


Cry Wolf

by Morgan (morgan32)



Series: Cry Wolf [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Sentinel
Genre: Crossover, Multi, SPN: Season One, Wincest - Freeform, post-TSBBS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-31
Updated: 2009-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small town in the Cascade Mountains, people are dying, bodies found mauled by some kind of beast. The Winchesters think it's a werewolf and plan to hunt it. Ex-cop Jim Ellison and his partner Blair are also hunting the creature. The four are uneasy allies, but Jim's suspicions of the brothers lead him to uncover their family secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline:** The story is set in the present, at the end of Winter 2005/6. In terms of _Sentinel_ canon, this is several years after the final episode so the timing isn't too important, except in that it's post-TSbBS (obviously). In terms of _Supernatural_ canon, I am aware that the time of year doesn't fit. The story is set during season one, after _Nightmare_ but before _Shadow_, which ought to place it during the Summer of 2006. I didn't realise that when I started writing this story (the snow in _Route 666_ kinda threw me off), and the winter setting is integral to my story, so I'm stuck with the anomoly. If it helps, consider the fic AU in the SPN universe.
> 
> **Credits:** The title and opening quote come from the song _Cry Wolf_, by A-ha. The song doesn't really have anything to do with the story, I just mention it for anyone interested. Panther Creek is a genuine location in the Cascade Mountains, north Washington. Whether there's really a town with that name, I don't know, but the name was too damn perfect for me not to use it, as I'm sure any Sentinel fan will agree! The song lyrics quoted in Chapter One are from _Building A Mystery_ by Sarah McLaughan.

_Night I left the city  
I dreamt of a wolf..._

#### Panther Creek, Wa

It was snowing by the time Jean started home. That was why she walked. Martin offered to drive her, and she should have accepted - she was already in trouble if her papa noticed she wasn't in her room. But so close to the mountains a light snowfall could become a blizzard all too quickly. Jean knew the pathways and was sure she could make it home even in a blizzard. Martin's car could easily become mired in the snow. She kissed him at the door and set off, her boots clicking on the stone path.

The road home was lonely, and Jean walked quickly. The full moon overhead sent light streaming down to reflect off the snow, making it easy for her to see her way. As the snowfall became heavier, Jean stamped her feet to shake the caked snow from her boots. She reached the gate to Stonehaven Lodge, and drew her coat more closely around her. She didn't like passing the Ellison place at night: the wolf painted on the tall gate post always scared her a little. She couldn't help noticing how the snow gathered on the paint in little flaky clumps, almost as if it clung to the fur of a real wolf. Hurrying onward, Jean stayed close to the stone wall, letting it guide her home.

On the other side of the now-invisible track, great hulking trees shielded the ground from the snow and blocked out the moonlight; the forest was a deep well of shadows. Jean shivered and wished Martin had offered to walk her home. He wasn't _that_ much of a gentleman.

Abruptly, Jean stopped, gazing into the woodland. She heard... Or thought she heard... Her eyes searched the darkness uncertainly. The woodland was quiet. Too quiet.

"Don't be silly," she said aloud. "There's nothing there." She walked on, picking up her pace. Home was ten minutes away. She began to sing softly, the first thing that came into her head.

_You come out at night  
That's when the energy comes  
And the dark side's light  
And the vampires roam_

Her foot slipped in the snow and she stumbled. Behind her, wind rustled the tall pines and she turned toward the sound.

Jean saw the movement, black against shadow. She started to run.

A lightning bolt of pain slashed across Jean's back. She screamed. Unthinking, she turned her head, but she never did see the thing that killed her.

***

Jim stayed at a careful distance, examining the girl's body with his senses. He heard neither heartbeat nor breath. The smells that reached him were raw meat, blood and a hint of her perfume. She was dead. Her blood had soaked into the snow around her, scarlet against the white. Her clothing was torn, three parallel gashes across her back, diagonally from left-to-right: gashes that went through her thick winter coat to the flesh. What in hell could have done that? Freddy Krueger, perhaps, but certainly no animal native to the Cascades.

Jim had seen enough murder scenes when he was a detective in Cascade to be sure: Jean had been dead for hours.

Poor Jean. Why was she out here so late, all alone?

Jim swallowed. He'd seen worse than this, but he _knew_ Jean. He looked at her snow-laced hair and remembered her wary smile, her laughter, the way she used to sing as she passed their farm. It made a difference; made it personal.

Jim looked, then, for tracks in the snow. He saw snow-filled traces of human footprints near her body, but could not distinguish Jean's from her killer's. The snow had fallen for some time after she died, concealing that evidence so well he could not be certain her killer's tracks were even there. Jim saw other tracks, too, but those he expected and paid little attention.

Jim took his phone from his pocket and called Blair. Blair was sitting on the gate waiting for Jim to return. Jim could see him from where he stood, and noticed that Blair's hands were pale, almost blue from the cold as he fumbled to answer Jim's call.

"Hey, man."

"What time did you find her?" Jim asked him, not bothering with a greeting.

"Just after dawn. She was already dead, Jim, I swear..."

"Blair, I believe you," Jim said hurriedly. As if he could have thought anything different! If there was any chance Jean was alive when Blair found her, he would have tried to help her, Jim was certain. "That's not why I asked. Jeanie passed our gate around midnight last night. I remember hearing her singing. So, if she never made it home, why has no one missed her? You found her after dawn...that's, what, seven hours after she must have died?"

Blair's eyes widened. "Oh. Yeah, I see." He was looking up at Jim as he spoke into the phone. Jim must have been no more than a distant silhouette to Blair, but he always looked Jim's way. He knew Jim saw his partner clearly.

Could Jeanie have been out without her family's knowledge? Sixteen years old...it was possible she'd been with a boy, or a man. If so, could they be looking for a human killer this time? Jim almost hoped it _was_ a person, but he looked again at the tracks in the snow and knew better.

Jim sighed. "I've got to call the cops."

Blair nodded unhappily. "Sheriff Fridell? Or do you want to call Simon?"

"I'd love to call Simon, but this is way outside his jurisdiction, Chief."

"What will you tell them?"

"I'm out jogging and I found her on the road. So get your ass back indoors. I'll take care of it."

Blair blew him a kiss. "Be careful, Jim."

He smiled. "Always. See you in a few hours." Jim ended the call and began to dial the local police.

***

The interview room of the Panther Creek Police Station was a dingy place permeated with the stink of cigarettes. Numerous cigarette burns covered the table between Jim and Sheriff Fridell, as if every suspect was a chain smoker but no one ever bothered to use an ashtray. The sheriff had supplied Jim with a cup of coffee, but it stood untouched on the table, cold now.

Jim tried to breathe shallowly, keeping tight control of his senses of smell and taste. It was the only way he could avoid throwing up. He looked up at Fridell leaning against the door and said patiently, "No, as I've already explained, I was just taking my morning jog."

Fridell's bushy eyebrows raised toward his hat. "In the snow?" he said, his voice heavy with scepticism.

Jim refused to be baited. "Sheriff, I run every day, no matter what the weather is like. Snow, rain...I'd run in a tornado if we ever got one." He smiled calmly. "I'm compulsive that way."

"Compulsive," Fridell repeated as if he wanted to suggest a different word. "Do you always run the same way?"

"Again, no. I prefer rougher terrain. But there was fresh snow today, so I took the easier route." Jim sighed. "Sheriff, we've been over this. Twice. I'm sure you're waiting for me to contradict myself but it's not going to happen because I'm telling the truth."

Fridell nodded as if he agreed. He moved forward and dragged the chair out noisily. "Here's the part I don't understand. Why didn't we find your footprints anywhere near the girl's body?"

"I'm an ex-cop. I know better than to disturb a crime scene."

"It's not a crime scene. The girl was killed by a wolf."

"You don't know that yet. Not for sure."

"_Mister_ Ellison, most people, even most cops, if they find a young girl collapsed in the snow, they'd try to help her. Check for a pulse at least. But you didn't. Why?"

At last, Jim understood what Fridell was getting at. "I've seen a lot of murder scenes, Fridell. I didn't need to get close to see she was dead. Her throat was slashed. From where I stood I could see the blood spatter pattern in the snow and it told me her carotid artery was severed. She would have bled out in minutes and the layer of snow on her body told me she'd been lying there for a couple of hours at least. So I kept my distance to preserve the evidence, and I called you." He hesitated then forged on. "Sheriff, maybe it was a wolf, like you said. But if so this attack was very unusual. Those scratches on her back looked more like knife wounds than claws. I realise this is your case, but if you need any help..."

"That's real convenient, Ellison," Fridell interrupted him, "you finding her like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"And here you are telling me we've got a man to look for 'stead of a wolf to hunt, when anyone could see the wolf tracks in the snow."

_You pig headed jerk!_ "I'm not angling for a job, Fridell. I'm offering my help. No charge."

"Well, I don't need help from the likes of you."

Jim struggled to keep his temper. "If you could see the tracks clearly enough to identify them as wolf, then you _know_ they were fresher than the body. Fresher than _her_ footprints in the snow. The wolf didn't kill her."

"I don't agree. And the ME's report is going to support me." Fridell strode over to the door and opened it. "Get out, Ellison. We're done here."

Jim stood. He was happy to get out of the room, but not at all happy with the outcome. He walked around to the door but stopped before he walked out. He tried one last time. "My offer stays open, Sheriff. Jeanie deserves the most complete investigation you can give her." He walked out without looking back, hoping Fridell would at least think about what he'd said.

Outside the police station, Jim called Blair to let him know he was on his way home.

Blair, as usual, picked up on his sour mood. "It didn't go well?" he asked.

Jim could hear the nervousness in his partner's voice. He snorted into the phone. "Fridell is an asshole. He insists a wolf killed Jeanie yet he interviewed me like a suspect."

"_You're_ a suspect?"

"Not really. He just enjoyed giving me a hard time. It would have been worth it if the stupid fuck heard what I was saying." He slammed the door of his snow-covered Hummer.

Blair hesitated. "Jim...the cops can't do anything."

"I know, Chief. But if I could convince Fridell there's a human predator out there, maybe people would be a bit more careful. What the hell was Jean doing out there alone, past midnight?"

"It's not your fault, man," Blair said in a very different voice.

Jim sighed, letting his head rest against the Hummer's window. "Why didn't I hear it, Blair?"

"Jim, you can't save everyone."

"But last night? I should have..."

"Jim. Stop it. You're a sentinel. You're not Superman."

_You're right. I know you're right..._ But Jim still felt guilty.

"If Fridell is calling it a wolf kill, can we look at the scene?" Blair asked hopefully.

"No, he'll keep it sealed until he can bully the M.E. into supporting his theory." Jim sighed tiredly. "I'm coming home, Chief. D'you need anything while I'm in town?"

There was a pause while Blair thought about it, but he finally said, "No, we're stocked up. See you soon."

Jim fired up the engine and started to drive.

***

#### Iowa, Three Weeks Later

"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, flinching away from his brother's touch.

"Keep still! You're going to make it worse." Dean probed the wound just below Sam's shoulder blade carefully with his fingers. He couldn't feel any more glass in there. "Okay, Sammy, I think I got it all." He used a cloth soaked in antiseptic to clean Sam's blood off his hands, then a different cloth to clean the blood from Sam's back. "Hold still, dude. This is gonna hurt."

He was kicking himself for not realising the job would go down this way. Dean thought, a nice, straightforward haunting, something easy. After everything they went through in Saginaw, Dean looked for a gig that might give Sam an easier time of it, and if he was honest with himself, that would give him a little shore leave as well. It was a good plan...until they ended up having the final showdown in a room full of glass.

Sam flinched at the first touch of peroxide on the open wound, but he didn't cry out again. Dean worked as quickly as he could, covering the wound with a sterile dressing and taping it down. He stroked Sam's shoulder gently, pulling away before the gesture could mean too much. "All done."

Sam reached for the shirt he'd left on the motel bed. "Thanks."

"Dude, you're not wearing that."

"Why not?"

"It's pink."

"It's the only shirt I have that's clean and doesn't have holes in it."

"You're not wearing that," Dean insisted grumpily. "One of mine will fit you." He started to pack up the first aid kit. Bandage. Peroxide. Scissors. Tape. They needed to restock. Hell, they both got hurt too often.

Sam turned around, looking up into Dean's face. "I'm okay, Dean," he said seriously.

Dean shook his head, annoyed that Sam could read him so easily. "Just a little higher and it would have been your lung, not your rib."

"Yeah, and you'd have driven me to a hospital and given me hell for bleeding all over your upholstery."

Dean hesitated because Sam was right. And so wrong. The moment he saw that glass sticking out of his brother's back was one of the scariest of his entire life. The wound looked very deep and for a moment, Dean really thought he'd lost Sam. As it turned out, it looked worse than it was, but even so... "You want some Advil or something?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm just going to sleep." He grinned suddenly. "You go ahead. I know you've got your eye on the waitress in the diner."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah...well..." He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a large knife. Silently, he offered it to Sam.

Sam took the knife. "Dude, we killed the ghost. Go celebrate."

Left alone, finally, Sam folded the pink shirt ready for morning, stripped off his pants and climbed into his bed. He slipped Dean's knife under the pillow. He had to lie on his front; the wound still stung like hell. He lay still in the bed and tried to sleep.

***

_Sam was walking through woodland. There was a stone wall on his left. His boots were churning up the virgin snow. He heard a girl's voice singing:_

_You come out at night  
That's when the energy comes  
And the dark side's light  
And the vampires roam_

_He looked around, but could see nothing of the girl. His feet carried him onward. There was a full moon in the sky, silvery light reflecting off the snow. He heard a wolf howl._

_Sam whirled around, his eyes seeking the wolf. It sounded so close..._

_Something leaped out of the trees. Sam had a confused sense of something black and grey. Moving fast. Eyes glowing. Teeth._

Sam cried out in pain...and found he was awake. He sat up, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs, the adrenaline rush still with him.

Dean, fully dressed and looking down at him from the foot of Sam's bed, said, "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty."

Sam glared at his brother. It was way too early for a witty comeback. "At least one of us is beautiful," he growled.

Dean threw Sam's clothes at him. "Feel up to a new gig?"

Immediately, Sam was awake. "Sure. You found something?" He wanted Dean to say no. He wanted to take a break. Ghosts and old legends come to life...it never ended.

Dean nodded, dashing Sam's hope.

"What and where?" Sam asked wearily.

"In the Northern Cascades." Dean fished a folded printout from his pocket. "A girl was killed a few weeks ago in a town called Panther Creek. The local newspapers say it was an animal attack, but no one's saying what kind of animal."

"An animal attack in the mountains. Doesn't sound like our kind of thing."

"It's the fifth death up there in a year, Sam. Dad started collecting the articles. We talked about heading up there last summer, but something else came up. Here..." he handed the paper to Sam, "look at the dates."

The paper showed the news report Dean found, with a picture of a teenage girl smiling up at them. At the bottom, Dean had written a list of names, and dates. Sam looked, but the dates meant nothing to him.

Dean fished their father's journal from his pocket and leafed through it until he found the right page. He passed the open journal to Sam. It showed a calendar with dates circled and several older news articles clipped to the page. Sam got the connection quickly.

"Full moon. You think it's a werewolf?"

"I'm thinking we should find out. I checked - the highway just re-opened."

If there _was_ a werewolf out there... "Any survivors?" Sam asked warily, remembering his dream. _It was just a dream, Sam. Not a premonition._

"Not that I've found. So far."

"Panther Creek, huh?" Sam shrugged, reaching for his pants. "Okay. Let's go."

***

#### Panther Creek

"I'll take a bottle of bourbon as well, Pete." Blair offered his credit card. The jingle of the bell above the door attracted his attention and he turned around. Strangers were unusual in Panther Creek at this time of year and these two were striking. Two young men, one dark, the other blonde, neither of them exactly dressed for the northern climate. The taller of the two made for the magazine rack; the other came toward the counter to pay for their gas. It made Blair glance through the window, looking for their car. He saw it, black against the snow: a classic Chevy Impala. Very nice.

"Here you go, Mr Sandburg." Pete handed over Blair's credit card and his bourbon.

"Thanks." He turned to go but found the dark-haired stranger staring at him. It felt like a challenge of some kind. Blair returned the look calmly. "Can I help you with something?"

"You're Blair Sandburg?" The young man sounded like he didn't quite believe it.

Blair smiled, realising he'd misinterpreted him. "Yes," he answered simply.

"I thought I recognised you from your book jacket." The young man's smile was eager. "You must hear this all the time, but I've gotta tell you, I love your work."

"Thanks." Blair shifted the scotch to his left hand so he could shake hands with the stranger. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr...?"

"Winchester. Sam Winchester." He nodded to the other man. "That's my brother, Dean. A friend bought me _Fear The Dawn_ for my birthday a couple of years ago. I must have read it a dozen times."

"Really?" Blair felt absurdly flattered. He was never quite sure how to behave in these situations; he thought of his fiction as the kind of thing you read on a plane, not the kind of thing that changes lives.

"God, yes," Sam said. "The vampiric serial killer as a reflection of the hero's inner torment, the secrets he was forced to keep... Do you mind me asking, was the killer based on Peter Kurten?"

With the question, Blair felt on safer ground. He'd answered that question half a dozen times in interviews and at book signings. He nodded. "The vampire part was, yes. Not the character so much. I researched a lot of serial killers for the book." What Blair didn't say was how much that first novel had been a working out of his own fears; old issues from his own close encounter with serial killer David Lash, back in Cascade. Those of his friends who knew what happened could tell how personal the novel was; strangers didn't need to know.

The other man, Dean, had finished paying for his gas. Blair heard him ask directions to Redwood Cabins.

"Why do you want to know?" Pete asked suspiciously.

"The tourist guide says they're open during the winter. Need a place to sleep, dude."

Blair interrupted to stop Pete from saying anything too offensive. "You're out of luck, man. They're closed just now."

Sam said, "That tears it. It's the only winter place in the guide."

"Yeah, we don't get many visitors in winter. The Cabins are a family business, Sam, and their daughter...died a couple of weeks ago. They don't want strangers around, man. It's a bad time for them."

Sam exchanged a glance with his brother. "I'm sorry to hear that. I don't suppose you can recommend some other place?"

"Not in winter," Pete growled. He seemed pleased about it.

_Son of a bitch._ "Are you staying in Panther Creek for long?" Blair asked. All of the local resorts were closed up for the winter. There were a few places in the Cascades open for the ski slopes but nowhere near Panther Creek. It just wasn't skiing country. People came to Panther Creek for the fishing, or to hike around the waterfalls; neither was a winter pastime.

Dean came forward. "The idea was to stay a couple of weeks. Maybe a little longer. We don't have firm plans."

"Well...you could stay at my place. At least until the Marsdens are ready to take in a guest or two."

"I don't know..." Dean began.

"Dean, it sounds like the best offer we're going to get."

"My place is Stonehaven Lodge," Blair said to Dean. "We're in the tourist guide, man, if that helps. My partner and I usually only take guests in summer, but we are licensed."

"Dean?"

Dean's eyes met Blair's appraisingly. "Why? If you only take summer guests?"

"My partner is away, working. The place gets lonely. And, frankly, the Marsdens are our neighbours. I'm thinking this does them a favour, too."

Dean shrugged. "Your call, Sammy."

"I say yes," Sam said, then, to Blair, "and thank you." He smiled at Blair, who grinned back.

"Okay. I'm heading home now, so you can follow me if you like."

They turned toward the door, but it was then that Pete, the jerk, chose to stick his nose in. "Ain't you gonna warn 'em?" he growled.

Sam frowned, but Dean was on it instantly. "Warn us about what?" he demanded.

Blair looked at Pete coldly. "Not everyone is a fucking bigot, Fridell." He turned back to the brothers, meeting Dean's eyes. "Pete means that my partner and I are gay. Is that a problem for you?"

Dean shrugged. "Unless I'm on the menu I don't see why I should care."

Blair looked at Sam, whose smile was just a little wider. He really was gorgeous. "No problem here," Sam confirmed.

Blair didn't look back at Pete, but it took an effort. "Cool," he grinned. "Let's go."

***

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded as they climbed into the Impala.

"What was what?" Sam asked, all innocent eyes and confusion.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "Little Sammy all star struck? Who is that guy anyway?"

Sam sighed. "Blair Sandburg. He's a writer. A good one."

"Sounded like it. You read vampire crap?"

"The novel we were talking about is a crime story, Dean. It's about a serial killer who believes he's a vampire."

"You gave him our real names." Dean revved up the Impala's engine. "How are we supposed to investigate this thing now? Or even pay for a room?" He watched Sandburg's truck pull out of the gas station and began to follow.

"Dean, I've got a credit card with my real name on it. It's not even fake. So I'll take care of the room, okay? As for the rest...I'm thinking maybe we should tell the truth for a change."

"What, are you nuts?"

"No, I'm serious. Dude, you heard the guy in the gas station - this is a small town. People will be suspicious if we try to pull a stunt."

"So you want to tell everyone we're hunting a werewolf? 'Cause, dude, that's messed up."

"No, I want to tell people we're interested in these deaths. Listen..."

***

Dean drove, following Blair's 4x4 along the uneven country roads. The gates to Stonehaven Lodge were tall, wrought iron gates edged by high stone pillars. There was a carving of a wolf on the left-hand pillar. Sam studied it as they went by and was impressed: the carving was very lifelike. He didn't see if the other pillar had a matching decoration. Dean followed Blair down a short driveway and around to the side of the house. At the side there was a garage big enough for four cars which opened at their approach - Sam assumed Blair had a remote control.

"Nice," Dean commented with a grin. "Good to have the car undercover in this weather."

Sam nodded agreement.

There was a Hummer parked on the far side of the garage: a big, all-terrain vehicle. Blair's more compact 4x4 looked tiny beside it. The garage was more than big enough for both vehicles, leaving a good space for the Impala.

Dean parked the car and Sam opened the door to get out. He saw the rack of guns on the wall ahead of the car. He leaned on the car door, gazing at the collection. "Dude," he said quietly, drawing his brother's attention to the glass-fronted case.

"Nice," Dean responded, then, to Blair, "You guys hunters?"

"My partner is, sort of. The guns are his."

"Is it safe to keep them in here?" Glass was easy to break...

Blair grinned. "It's secure, and we don't keep the ammo with the guns. I think they're safe enough. This way." He unlocked a connecting door to the house and waited while Sam got their bags out of the Impala's trunk.

The house was modern-rustic in style: bare brick walls with wooden beams and hardwood flooring. Blair led them through several rooms into a large kitchen. The kitchen was dominated by a long pine dining table, where Blair laid down the shopping bags he was carrying.

Blair nodded toward a half-open door. "My study, writing room, whatever you want to call it is through there. If you can't find me any time, that's probably where I am. Feel free to knock if you need me." He led the way across the room toward the far door. "Your room rental includes breakfast and I can feed you the other two meals a day if you want, and add it to your room cost."

"What time is breakfast?" Dean asked.

"I set up the coffee percolator before I go to bed, so if you're an early riser you can help yourself whenever you're ready. Food is any time after seven thirty, but don't feel like you have to get up. I'll make your breakfast at lunchtime if it suits you."

Sam saw the blissful smile on his brother's face. "I know what you're thinking, you dick," he teased.

Blair grinned at them both, opening a door to reveal another door right behind it. "Here you go." He opened the second door. "This part of the house is only for guests. You'll have the wing to yourselves, so pick whichever room you like. The bathroom is over there, and there's a living room through the glass doors if you want to watch TV." He stood back for the brothers to pass him then closed the door behind them. "If you want privacy for any reason, or just want me to stay out of your way, you can latch the inner door here. I won't come in if it's on the latch. But feel free to join me in the main house if you want company."

"Why the double doors?" Sam asked curiously.

"It's for soundproofing. My partner has really sensitive hearing, and sometimes we have guests with kids." He shrugged with a quick smile. "So. Does the place suit you?"

Sam glanced at Dean before answering, "It looks great. How much extra for three meals a day?"

"Ten bucks. But...if you'd be willing to give me a hand around the place while my partner's away, I'll feed you for free."

It sounded a little ominous, Sam thought. "What kind of help?"

"Uh...it's the stables, man. We've got three horses and they need care: fresh hay, cleaning out, you know? The thing is, I can do it if I've got to, but I've got this phobia. You'd really be helping me out, man."

Sam frowned. Why would someone scared of horses keep them? He glanced at Dean. "Doesn't sound too hard."

Dean shrugged. "Free food, dude. I'm in."

"Me too," Sam agreed.

"Great!" Blair grinned. He smiled a lot, Sam noticed. "I'll leave you to settle in, then. Come and find me when you feel hungry and we can take care of the paperwork before we eat."

***

Blair showed them the stables and it wasn't nearly as bad as Sam feared. There were three horses and all three seemed well cared for. All the equipment they needed was neatly laid out in a spare stall. The only work needed was exactly what Blair told them: the stalls needed a sweep and a hose-down - smelly work but not difficult - and the feed and water needed renewing.

Though neither of the brothers were country boys, they spent a couple of summers on a ranch when they were kids: their dad's hunting was almost a constant by then and the ranch - owned by a fellow hunter - was his idea of a safe place to leave his sons while he went places and killed things. They'd earned pocket money currying horses and mucking out stables. So this was easy work.

Blair stayed outside the stable door, pointing out the things they might need from what he appeared to think was a safe distance. Then he left before Sam led the first horse out of her stall. Sam noticed his phobia seemed genuine and he wondered how someone so unwilling to come close to them could take care of the horses when he was alone here. And why on earth keep horses anyway?

Earning their keep didn't take long, and after finishing that job, they took a walk. Sam wanted to walk into town, maybe talk to some people. Dean wanted to look for the place where the girl he'd read about was killed. It was nearly four weeks ago; there wouldn't be anything left to see, but they went looking.

As they walked up the snow-covered track, with the stone wall of the farm on one side and the thick woodland on the other, Sam got the weirdest feeling of deja-vu. He had been here before...yet he knew he had never been here. It was a nagging feeling he couldn't place.

"Perfect hunting ground for a werewolf," Dean commented. He was looking into the dark woods.

Sam nodded. "Anyone on this path is a sitting duck." Then he stopped. "Dude, this is it."

"Huh?"

"This is where she died." He looked back the way they'd come.

_...Walking through woodland...a stone wall on his left...his boots churning up the virgin snow...a girl's voice singing..._

"Dean, she came up the track around midnight. She was singing to herself. She came to about here...and she stopped for some reason. Then she died."

"How the fuck...? Dude, you're freaking me out here!"

"I dreamed it. A few nights ago."

"And you didn't tell me? Sam, crap like this happens, you _tell me_."

"I thought it was just a dream. It didn't feel like...like my dreams about Jessica, or Max's family."

Dean smacked him on the shoulder. "Dude, three o'clock."

Sam looked. There was a woman coming down the track, a little brown terrier yapping around her feet.

"Come to daddy," Dean said, grinning.

"Dude, keep your mind on the job."

"I am. We need to talk to some people. She's people. Man, is she!"

_Great._ Sam would have groused about it, but it was pointless. Once Dean started thinking with his dick all bets were off. "Fine. Go get her," Sam told him. He let Dean walk on ahead.

Dean was right: they did need to talk to some people. He envied the ease with which Dean could do this. Maybe he rarely made a deep connection with people but he did know how to get girls talking.

The woman looked about twenty; younger than both of them. Her pale face was fine-boned and delicate, with a pointed chin and large eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Her most striking feature was her hair: a mass of auburn curls tied loosely at the neck so her hair tumbled down her back. It was hard to see what kind of a figure she had under the heavy winter clothing but she was taller than Dean and from the delicate features Sam was betting she was supermodel-thin. She wasn't Dean's usual type, but Sam saw her smile as Dean walked her way and knew his brother was turning on the charm.

Her dog ran up to Dean, sniffed around his ankles and ran away yapping. Sam caught up with them in time to hear:

"...All alone. I heard someone died around here." Dean turned as Sam reached them, saying, "That's my brother, Sam. He's harmless."

"Unlike you," Sam retorted with a grin.

The woman smiled. "Hi, Sam, I'm Erin." To Dean she said, "Everyone knows about Jean. It was horrible...but I'm not going to spend my life scared of shadows. Macha will warn me if there's anything out there." She moved forward, as if to continue down the track. Perhaps she intended to avoid further conversation by walking the way they had come from, but Dean fell into step beside her and she didn't object.

"Did you know her?" Dean asked, his voice gentle.

"Everyone knows everyone in Panther Creek," she answered. "But I don't know you guys. Are you moving in somewhere around here?"

"No, we're just taking a holiday," Dean told her.

"A little early in the season, isn't it?"

"Thought we'd beat the rush. We're staying at Stonehaven Lodge."

Erin's cheerful smile faded. "Oh, the Ellison place."

Sam noticed the change in her and remembered the gas station owner. "Don't you like them?" he asked.

Erin hesitated, then looked up at Sam. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because she said hurriedly, "Oh, no, it's not what you think! I know some people 'round here don't approve but... I was thinking of Jean. She hated passing their gate. The wolf freaked her out, you know?"

"The wolf?" Dean asked, a little too sharply.

But Sam remembered the carved and painted wolf on the gate post.

"On the gate," Erin explained. "I guess it seems...bad taste."

Her opinion confused Sam. Lots of people had stone animals guarding their gates...didn't they? Or perhaps he was just too accustomed to suburbia. They could see the gate ahead of them now.

Dean asked Erin if there was a good place to go out in the evenings.

She thought about it. "There's not much night life in town. Most of the young people like Beanies."

"Beanies?" Sam repeated with a laugh.

"The full name is _The Coffee Bean_ but no one 'round here calls it that. It's at the end of the main street, past the police station. Coffee shop by day, bar and music after six. If you come after dark you won't miss it: there's loads of little lanterns along the roof, like Christmas lights."

Dean smiled at her. "Will I see you there?"

Erin returned his smile and again Sam wondered again how Dean did it. "Not tonight," she answered. "Maybe tomorrow. It depends."

Tomorrow night was the night before the full moon. They would be hunting. Sam tried to catch Dean's eye but Dean was in full charm-mode and not paying any attention to Sam.

"Depends on what?" he asked.

Erin's smile was brilliant. "On whether I decide I'm interested in an affair with a handsome stranger." She laughed and took off down the track, her little terrier running at her heels.

Sam wanted to make some appropriate comment, but Dean's shit-eating grin said it all. _Score!_ Damn him.

"Dude, you _do_ know you're not gonna make that date, don't you?"

"Are you kidding me? With that waiting for me? Why not?"

"Because there's a werewolf that's gonna be out there. Hungry."

Dean's eyes were still on the girl, her figure getting smaller in the distance. "Aw, come on, Sammy. We can take one night off."

Sam stared at him, because that really wasn't like Dean at all. Was Dean as tired of all the hunting as Sam was? It seemed unlikely, but...

Dean grinned, but it seemed false. "Dude, I'm kidding. We'll run into her another time."


	2. Chapter 2

It was when Dean saw what Blair considered "a light supper" that he decided they'd definitely found the right place to stay. Fried steak and onions, pan-roasted vegetables and the best home-baked bread Dean ever tasted. All this with a pitcher of cold beer and the promise of a second helping if they wanted it.

"Your partner must be fat," Dean joked. "This is fantastic, dude."

"No, we just like to eat well."

"Can we meet your partner?" Sam asked. He was tucking in with as much enthusiasm as Dean.

"Jim's away, working. He'll be home soon, I hope. He was due back yesterday, but I guess the case is keeping him tied up." Blair cut into his steak; he'd made it rare, so blood ran out as he cut. He went on, "Jim used to be a cop, a detective, in Cascade. Now he's a specialist consultant so he works all over the country. Canada, sometimes. Right now he's in Ohio." Blair sighed.

"You miss him," Sam said quietly.

Blair's smile was sad. "Always. On some cases I go with him, but..." He took a bite of his steak. "What about you two? Why are you here this time of year? It can't be for the fishing."

Dean kept his mouth shut, letting Sam take that one.

Sam said, "I'm kind of embarrassed to admit it to you, but...well, I want to write a book."

Blair nodded. "Really? What about?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet. I've read about a series of wolf attacks on people around here, and..."

Dean, watching Blair, saw his reaction before he covered it. Something almost like fear, just for a second, before he schooled his face to a more neutral expression.

"Shit, you're not a journalist are you?" Blair demanded. "Or another nutcase with a crackpot theory about all this?"

That made Sam turn to Dean. Yeah, they'd both heard it. _Another_ nutcase. Who had been here ahead of them? Could their dad be here, too?

Sam said carefully, "I'm not a reporter. I graduated from Stanford last year and I'm hoping to write non-fiction. But you said 'another'. Has someone else been around? A stranger?"

Blair set down his knife and fork. His expression was distinctly less friendly. "This is not a new thing, Sam. We're a stone's throw from the national park, and the land all around us is a wilderness. There are wolves, bears, cats - all kinds of predators - in these mountains. There have been attacks on humans for as long as humans have lived here."

"But," Sam pressed, "the pattern in the last few years is different, isn't it?"

"That's a matter of perspective," Blair answered. "Look, man, there have been more attacks because the human population is increasing, spreading out. There's been some environmental damage, deforestation. The prey animals in the mountains are more scarce, so it makes sense that the predators will move into human territory. That's all it is."

"Not everyone thinks so," Sam prompted.

"Since Jim and I moved here, there have been people every year who've tried to blame the attacks on something...unnatural. We've had Mulder-wannabes asking about cattle mutilations. We've had ghost hunters. Last summer it was a nutcase convinced we've got a werewolf in the hills."

"Last summer?" Dean repeated. Then whoever it was, it wasn't their dad. He met Sam's disappointed eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing. _We'll find him, Sam. We will._

"What?" Blair asked, watching them.

"Nothing," Sam answered hastily.

"When you asked for directions at the gas station, did you know the Marsdens' daughter was the latest victim?"

"No," Dean answered before Sam could say something unfortunate. There were limits to honesty. "We just picked the place out of the tourist guide."

Blair met Dean's eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment. Dean looked right back, hoping Blair would decide he had an honest face.

Finally Blair nodded. "Okay. I'll tell you what I know about these attacks, Sam, but don't stir things up around town. This is a small town, man. Someone'll rip your head off."

"We're not here to make trouble, Mr Sandburg," Dean answered in his best obedient voice.

"I didn't say you were, but - " Blair broke off as the telephone rang.

***

Blair caught the phone on the third ring. The caller display told him who it was so he answered with a smile, "Hi, Jim!" He could hear traffic in the background and guessed Jim was driving.

"Hi, Chief. Good news. The case is over. I'm on my way to the airport. How's the snow?"

"The highway's open but it's still icy. I'll pick you up from the airport. What time does your flight get in?"

"I'll be on the red-eye, Chief. Just before five in the morning. Still want to pick me up?"

"No. But I will."

Blair knew Jim was smiling. "Must be love. Who's with you?"

Blair turned to glance at the brothers who were talking quietly. "We've got a couple of guests. I know it's early, but the Marsden place is still closed so I took pity on them."

"Damn," Jim said, his voice low. "I was hoping for some phone sex."

Blair made his voice low and sexy. "You want phone sex, baby, call me when you're not driving."

Jim's laughter was good to hear.

Blair waited for him to stop laughing, then said, "I'll see you at five, Jim. Love you."

***

By the time supper was finished, it was full dark outside. Sam suggested they should walk into town and check out the bar Erin told them about, but Dean surprisingly vetoed the idea. They might get lost in the dark, it was late...his excuses were lame enough for Sam to guess they weren't the real reason. It made Sam take a closer look at his brother and he realised that Dean hadn't been kidding about sleeping until noon. Dean needed a vacation from all this as badly as Sam did. They were in Panther Creek to do a job, but Stonehaven Lodge was much better than most of the motels they stayed at and they would be alone tonight. Sam thought it was worth taking advantage.

The guest wing had five bedrooms, two bathrooms and a large living room. The living room boasted a French window with a spectacular view of the mountains. There was also a TV with a surround-sound system and a good stereo, with a bookcase displaying a choice of DVDs and music.

Dean settled himself into a leather easy-chair and stretched. Sam watched, and Dean's effortless sensuality caught him in his gut, just as it always did. The way Dean's muscles rippled beneath his t-shirt as he stretched his arms above his head; the way the cords in his neck stood out. And he was going to waste all that on a local girl.

Sam shook his head. He had to stop thinking this way about Dean. They weren't kids any longer. Some childhood games you just can't take into adulthood.

Dean relaxed, turned his head and looked at Sam. "You picked a room yet, dude?"

"No." Sam left Dean to watch TV. He picked up their bags and chose a room at random. He unpacked the laptop. Blair told him that his home network was set up with a wireless router and sure enough the laptop picked up the connection easily. Sam opened the browser and started looking for local news websites.

He heard the television in the other room. Dean was in an odd mood. It was best to give him some space. There were some things they just couldn't talk about. Dean's habit of deflecting any serious conversation had become much worse since their reunion. He was impossible to talk to!

Sam found the local newspaper's website and started by searching through the obituaries. Some of this information he already knew, but the site had details the national newspapers had left out. Before long Sam was absorbed in the task of collating all the new information.

Two hours later, Sam had a good picture of what was happening around Panther Creek. He was convinced it was something supernatural. He thought their initial suspicions of a werewolf were looking more likely, too. Sam didn't like hunting werewolves. Not only was there a serious risk of infection, but a werewolf was a person much of the time. It made killing them...harder.

Sam took his research to Dean, who made him wait until his movie was over. When Dean finally turned the television off, Sam spread the map out on the floor. Dean knelt beside him.

"Blair was right, dude. There's a history of disappearances and animal attacks around here that goes back decades. But in the past six or seven years, it's been different. If we factor in the disappearances, there have been between four and ten victims every year since 1999."

Sam drew a rough circle on the map, a circle which included Panther Creek near its centre. "Jean Marsden's body was found here." He marked a cross on the map. "It's not far from where we are now. The others last year were here, here, here and here." Sam's X's made a clear pattern.

Dean grinned. "Nice work, Sammy." He traced the blue line of the river with his finger. "It's staying within reach of the water."

"Yeah. Now, the deaths you discovered all took place within a day of the full moon. There's also one you missed: a woman drowned in the creek, just here." He marked the map.

"Full moon again?"

"The night before. It's reported as a drowning, no suggestion of an animal attack, but - "

"So why include it?"

"Because I think she was running from something when she fell into the creek." Sam glanced at Dean, who was sprawled on the floor studying the map. "The creek is the centre of it, dude, I'm sure."

Dean was chewing his lip. "Yeah, we should definitely check out the creek. But look at this, Sammy." Dean's finger traced a line from the site of Jean Marsden's murder to the previous site, and then to the one before that. His invisible line encircled Stonehaven Lodge. He looked up at Sam. "Coincidence?"

Sam frowned. "It could be. The farm is within this thing's hunting ground. You could probably link any of these isolated houses like that."

"Yeah, you could be right." Dean rolled onto his back lazily. "We'll check out the creek in the morning. Then you can talk to Blair and his partner. I'll see if there's anyone else around worth talking to..."

While Dean talked, Sam began folding up the map. He didn't ask again why Dean didn't want to start tonight. They were both in need of a rest. Dean was lying on top of the map so Sam reached out to push him off it. Dean caught Sam's wrist as if he'd anticipated a very different touch. Their eyes met.

Nothing was said. Sam saw the raw lust in his brother's look and that wasn't entirely a surprise. But the fear in Dean's eyes was a shock. Desire between them was nothing new. Brothers were not supposed to feel this way about each other but they always had. They fucked each other as teenagers, but that was before Sam left. Before Sam spent four years trying to forge a normal life for himself.

It _was_ different, to feel this desire as an adult. There could be no excuses; no pretending it was a game or a phase.

The fear Dean showed him was something Sam thought he understood. Sam left once. He could not promise Dean he would never leave again. He fully intended to quit hunting as soon as the thing that killed Jess and their mother was dead. He could not live like this for the rest of his life. But next time Sam left, he was damned well taking Dean with him. Sam tried to explain that to Dean, not in words, but with his eyes, his expression, because he knew Dean wouldn't stand for the conversation. It wasn't really a "normal" life Sam needed. It was just safety. To be free of all this weirdness.

He wanted to live in a world where salt was something you sprinkled on food instead of across window sills and silver was something you wore in rings, not bullets. A world where nightmares went away when he woke up.

Then he remembered Max, whose psychic power destroyed his fragile mind, and he shuddered. Normal? Sam could never be normal. He saw visions and dreamed things that came true. He felt the energies of places and saw spirits. Sam might never learn his way out of that world and damn, but he needed Dean to keep him sane. Dean would never let Sam get out of control the way Max...

"You're not him, Sam. You're nothing like him." Dean's voice was quiet but determined, cutting into Sam's thoughts.

Dean's hand still covered Sam's wrist. Sam moved closer, feeling the map crackle beneath him. He leaned down, slowly, and kissed Dean.

Dean did not push Sam away.

Dean made a small sound and his mouth opened to accept Sam's kiss. For a moment, it was only a kiss. Then Dean grabbed for Sam in a movement owing more to wrestling than to passion. He rolled Sam onto his back, pinning him down, and kissed him hard. Sam barely had time to catch his breath before Dean's hands were on his belt and the zipper of his pants. It was like a dam breaking, this long-denied need pouring out, carrying them within its torrent, helplessly. Dean's urgency was almost frightening. In seconds Sam's pants were down around his knees and for a moment he thought Dean was going to roll him over and just fuck him and he would have welcomed that. But Dean's fist closed around Sam's dick.

Sam cried out. No one else ever touched him the way Dean could. Dean taught him, learned Sam's body with him. Dean, even when rushed like this, knew exactly how to give Sam the most pleasure. Sam was coming before he knew it, the need building inside, more and more and he wanted to hold back but couldn't, just couldn't.

Dean hissed, "Sam, look at me!" Sam opened his eyes to find Dean's face above his, flushed and eager. He expected a kiss, but Dean just held his gaze, pumping Sam's cock faster, harder. Sam surrendered, allowing Dean to take what he needed. He knew Dean wouldn't let go this completely for anyone but him. This intensity was for Sam, and Sam alone. He came looking into his brother's eyes and saw Dean shudder in silent orgasm as his own faded away.

It had been too fast, and Sam felt almost embarrassed to have come so quickly. The dark stain evident on Dean's pants when they both began to sit up allayed that feeling a little. They looked at each other, both silent.

Sam opened his mouth to speak.

Dean said, "Dude, don't make a big deal of it."

Sam frowned. _Why_ did Dean do that, every fucking time? "Fuck you," he returned, irritated.

"What's the matter, Sammy? You want to cuddle?"

"It's Sam. Go and change your pants."

***

No woman Dean had ever been with was as sexy as Sam when he came. The way Sam struggled to keep his eyes open, because Dean wanted him to. The way his body bucked beneath Dean's weight. The strength of his hand gripping Dean's shoulder. The silken hardness of Sam's dick sliding across Dean's palm. Four years apart had turned Dean's little brother into a man, and he was still the best sex Dean could imagine. Sam's surrender brought Dean to orgasm. He'd barely even touched himself; he came in his pants like a kid. Only Sam could do that to him.

Dean found the room Sam had chosen for them and couldn't help smiling. It was a king-sized bed, not two singles. Sam was determined, wasn't he? But they'd introduced themselves to Blair as brothers; sharing a bed could get them into serious trouble. They'd got a lot of practice dodging their father but even so...

Dean stripped off his pants and underwear and rummaged in his bag for a change of clothing. _God, Sam..._

He knew that wanting his brother was fucked up. He'd stopped caring somewhere around the time he turned eighteen. He remembered his teenage brother crawling into his bed at night. He remembered covering Sammy's mouth as he came, terrified their dad could hear them. So it was fucked up. He'd missed it. He missed having this with Sam.

Dean could sleep with others to satisfy the physical need. Sex was freely available anywhere. But most of the time it was just physical. Only with Sam could Dean relax completely, be himself. Be safe. Only with Sam.

And Sam was there, behind him, sliding his hands around Dean's body. "What's taking you so long?"

Dean turned around and without really thinking about it he reached up to kiss Sam. He hadn't really noticed on the floor just how tall Sam was. This wasn't "little Sammy" any longer. He'd always been assertive in bed; now he was positively aggressive.

Dean liked it.

He let Sam pull him down onto the bed.

***

Jim woke with a start and found Blair's gentle hand on his shoulder. They were still in the truck, and he saw the snow-capped mountains glow with the first light of dawn.

"Jim, we're almost there, man," Blair said.

Jim rubbed sleep out of his eyes and yawned. It felt like days since he'd slept properly. He rolled down the truck's window. Cold air flowed in: it would help keep him awake. "Chief, I think I'm getting too old for this," he sighed.

Blair snorted, keeping his eyes on the road. "Not even close, man. Was it a tough case this time?"

Jim nodded. "I hate leaving a case unsolved."

"I thought you said you'd closed it."

"No, I said it was over. There have been murders in at least four states with the same MO: Arizona and New Jersey in October last year, California in November, and Maine just before this last one. So I told them to hand it over to the FBI. I stayed long enough to debrief with the Feds, but they don't need me around for the rest." Jim leaned back, looking up at the truck's ceiling. Lee Torrance, a lieutenant with the Ohio state police, called Jim in on the case for only one reason: because he knew Jim was faster than a forensics lab. Lee didn't exactly know everything about Jim's sentinel ability, but he knew enough: they'd worked together on a couple of cases over the years since Jim started consulting.

Jim went into this case expecting a straightforward investigation: the victims were a family active in local politics so motive seemed obvious. Lee wanted him to establish method, and that was where the case became weird. The fire department established that the fire burned at over four thousand degrees, which was impossible without some kind of high-temperature accelerant, and no trace of an accelerant was found. Jim examined the scene as closely as only a sentinel could. He found traces of sulphur (which the forensics team had missed) and a small amount of paraffin (which was news to no one - apparently the woman who was killed had been fond of those tacky decorative oil lamps).

The mystery led Jim to do some research, looking for other impossibly hot fires in the hope of finding out what kind of accelerant might have been used. Instead, Jim uncovered (or thought he had - the Feds hadn't confirmed anything yet) what looked like a serial murder case. The kind that was going to hit national headlines when the media caught on.

"You wanted to stay, didn't you?" Blair's voice interrupted Jim's thoughts.

Jim reached across to squeeze Blair's thigh, feeling the warmth of him through his pants. "Yeah, I wanted to be there for the arrest. But it's better to let the Feds have it. Whoever they are, they're moving around a lot. I guess it's just...there are some things I couldn't figure out. Like how they did it. It's bugging me."

"Why couldn't you...?"

"Chief," Jim interrupted, "I want to forget about it until I've had about ten hours sleep. Okay with you?"

"Sure, man." Blair fell silent agreeably.

Jim could feel himself dropping off to sleep again. That was no good. He'd sleep when they reached home. When he was in their bed. "Talk to me, Chief. How's the book coming?"

Blair grinned at him. "It's almost finished. I'll be done in another week, I think, then I can send it on to Angie and take a break for a while."

"So you'll come with me on the next job?" Jim asked hopefully. He could manage without Blair and on some jobs he had no choice. Some of the police departments he worked with refused to trust Blair's discretion because he was a crime writer. But it was always better when they worked a case together. When Jim knew he was being hired for his sentinel ability, he always took Blair along.

Blair answered enthusiastically, "You bet I'm coming!"

"Anything lined up?" Jim asked. Blair acted as, in effect, Jim's business agent, making arrangements, choosing jobs and so on, so he often knew before Jim where the next job would come from.

"Um...Nelson called with a tracking job. Colorado. If you want it."

"Bail jumper?"

"I think so. I told him you're not available for another week. He'll call back if the job's still on. D'you want to take it, Jim?"

Jim thought about it. "Maybe. Depends on the details. I'll look at the file if he calls back."

"We don't need the money, Jim."

"I know." Jim nodded. The accounts were in good shape. Blair's last book was still selling well and Jim worked hard enough last year to save a decent amount. He could afford to be picky about his next job. "So, tell me about our guests," he suggested to change the subject. He could see the lights of Panther Creek ahead.

"Oh. Two brothers, Dean and Sam Winchester. They seem okay." Blair fell silent while he turned the truck onto the hill road, then started talking again, telling Jim about the brothers and why they said they were in Panther Creek.

Jim groaned. "Not more UFO nuts?"

Blair slowed the truck and pointed the control at the gate. It swung open slowly. "I don't think so, man. They don't seem like the type."

And they were home. Jim climbed out of the truck and stretched, working the kinks out of his spine. He groaned. "I just want to fall into bed and sleep."

Blair smiled, coming around to his side. "Then why don't you?"

"Coming with me?"

"Uh...I'd love to, man, but I've gotta make breakfast for our guests."

In the bedroom, Jim undressed quickly. Blair left Jim's bags under the window. Jim came up behind him. "Chief."

Blair straightened and turned into Jim's hug, lifting his face for a kiss. Jim kissed him deeply, his fatigue retreating as he held his lover close. Coming home made the travelling worth it.

"Come to bed," Jim whispered into Blair's ear.

"I missed you," Blair said. It was as good as a yes.

Jim got into the bed but Blair just lay down above the comforter. Jim understood: Blair needed to stay awake and couldn't lie down for long. He gathered Blair into his arms and cuddled him close. "I missed you, too." In minutes, Jim was asleep.

***

Sam woke with Dean's body sprawled on top of him. It wasn't very comfortable. Dean appeared to be completely unconscious. Sam began to ease himself out from under Dean and it hit him suddenly that this was a first. Waking up in bed with Dean... They had sex years before, but they'd never spent a whole night naked together. God, no. It had been quick, furtive encounters: always careful, always with the spice of danger and a justified fear of what might happen if their dad ever caught them together.

Dean half-woke as Sam moved. He rolled over, freeing Sam, and went straight back to sleep. That was Dean for you. The man could sleep anywhere, any time...and he'd be awake instantly at the first hint of danger.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and found his body stiff and slow to respond. His muscles ached and he was sore in places that hadn't been touched for a long time. He smiled to himself, not at all upset about it. They'd had a busy night.

Sam's watch lay on the floor beside the bed. He picked it up, and saw it was past nine. Time to get up.

While taking a shower Sam was unsurprised to find bruises on his hips and thighs. He looked at his nude body in the mirror, turning around to examine the wound on his back. It was healing well, no infection or pain. But there was a bite mark on his arm that he didn't clearly remember Dean giving to him. Well, it would be easy enough to cover up.

It wasn't until Sam started to shave that he noticed a much more prominent bruise on his neck. He rubbed the foam off his face, leaning closer to the mirror to examine it. He remembered Dean's mouth at his neck and grinned at his reflection. He was having trouble remembering why he'd refused Dean in Oklahoma...but damn, that hickey was going to be tougher to hide. He'd have to wear a turtleneck.

When Sam passed their room, Dean was still sleeping. Sam remembered Blair's promise of coffee at any hour so he headed into the main house, leaving Dean to sleep. The kitchen was empty but as promised there was a pot of coffee waiting. Sam helped himself.

When Dean was up, they needed to start work on this gig. The full moon was two nights away, and they needed to find out at much as they could before they went hunting. These attacks had a long history. At the very least they needed to know if they were dealing with one werewolf or a whole pack of them. A pack was a bit much to take on...though Sam thought that if it turned out that way, Dean would want to try.

Carrying his coffee with him, Sam headed for Blair's study, thinking this was as good a time as any to ask him about the attacks. The door was slightly ajar and Sam could hear sounds from inside so he knocked softly.

"I'm here," Blair called. "Come on in."

The study, or perhaps office was a better description, was a large room with white-painted walls and a low, beamed ceiling. There were two desks, each with its own computer and a year planner pinned to the wall between them. There was a set of bookshelves stuffed with books and a large green leather couch against one wall. The windows were big, giving a view of the woods and letting in plenty of light. A brightly coloured woven rug took up most of the floor. The pattern was reminiscent of Native American style; Sam liked it.

Blair was taking paper out of the printer. He looked up as Sam entered. "Hi, Sam. Just give me a minute." He stacked the papers and slipped them into a folder. "Looking for breakfast?" he asked.

"Yes, but Dean's not up yet. I don't want to make you cook twice."

"If the smell of bacon doesn't wake him, I'll be cooking again when Jim gets up anyway. I don't know about you, man, but I'm hungry."

"Yeah," Sam agreed eagerly. "Are you...um...are you working on a new novel?"

"Yes. It's almost ready to send to my editor." He put the folder away in a drawer and turned toward the door where Sam waited.

"What's this one about?" Sam asked. He was making conversation, but his interest was genuine. _Little Sammy all star struck_, Dean had said; it was embarrassingly accurate. Sam didn't read a lot of fiction, but the friend who introduced him to Blair's novels did him a real favour. They were crime stories, probably similar to fifty other authors, but Blair wrote about heroes with secrets: a dark past, a hidden pain. It was something Sam identified with.

Blair grinned. "What's it about?" he repeated. "Same as all of them. Crime and cops." He shrugged. "I'm trying a new approach with this one, though. The protagonist is the victim, not the cop."

Sam nodded, following Blair to the kitchen. "That _is_ different. When will it be available?"

"In six or seven months, if everything stays on schedule. What would you like for breakfast?"

Sam spread his hands. "Uh...I don't know."

"Well, you're paying for it, man, so you can have anything you like. I'm having pancakes with crispy bacon. Pancakes suit you?"

Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd had homemade pancakes. He grinned. "Sounds great. Would you like some help?"

"No, thanks, man, just sit down. Bacon? If you'd like something different I've got fruit, cream, eggs, honey, lemon or just sugar."

"No...bacon is great."

"Cool." Blair busied himself getting things ready. "You know, Sam, if you're that interested in the novel, you should stick around a week or so. Once the first draft is finished I'll be happy to let you read it."

"I'd love that! But...I don't know how long we'll be around." Sam finished his coffee, then broached the subject he needed to talk about. "Um...you offered to tell me about the girl who died..."

Blair had his back to Sam when Sam spoke, and Sam saw his shoulders tense. Blair froze for a moment, then went on pouring batter into the hot frying pan. "Yeah, I did," he agreed.

Sam took the hint and shut up while Blair cooked. The smells were delicious, sharpening Sam's hunger. Blair refilled Sam's coffee mug without Sam asking, set out plates and cutlery for four people, added glasses, squeezed oranges for juice and finally set out a plate of perfectly crisped bacon and stack of pancakes.

"Jean Marsden," Blair said as he loaded up his plate. "She was sixteen years old, Sam. A lovely kid with everything to live for. That night, she'd been at her boyfriend's place in town and walked home alone. Probably because it was snowing: fresh snow makes the track impassable by car. She was killed not long after she passed our gate, which is why Jim was the one who found her body. He goes running every morning when he's at home." He swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "What else do you want to know?"

"Were there any witnesses?"

"To Jean's death? No way, man. The fresh snow would have shown prints if anyone was near when she died. The only footprints on the scene were hers, Jim's and some animal tracks. That's why Sheriff Fridell is so sure it was a wolf."

"Was Jean...was there any reason to think her death was suspicious?"

Blair hesitated, and Sam noticed his hesitation. He answered slowly, "If you're asking whether it could have been murder, no, man, it wasn't. No person killed her. But...well, Jim wasn't happy with the way it was handled. I guess he still thinks like a big city cop: he likes to cover all the bases. By Jim's standards the investigation was sloppy."

"How so?"

"Well, Fridell decided it was a wolf, and then he dropped it. No need to look any deeper."

Sam frowned, remembering. "Fridell. Same name as the gas station guy?"

"It's a small town, man. They're brothers." Blair started to get up. "More pancakes?"

"No thanks, I'm full."

"I could eat a few." Dean's voice came from the doorway. He walked in and took a seat beside Sam. "Why didn't you wake me, dude? I almost missed breakfast!"

Sam grinned at him. "Dean, you were sleeping like a baby. You looked way too cute to disturb."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. If looks could kill...

***

Jim watched Blair through half-closed eyes. Blair was busy with something in the bathroom. Blair dropped something - a shampoo bottle, judging by the thud - and Jim lifted his head from the pillow.

"Let a guy sleep, Chief."

Blair poked his head around the bathroom door. "Sorry, man." He didn't sound sorry.

Jim sat up, letting the comforter fall away from his body. "Guests gone?" he asked, though he already knew they were alone.

Blair appeared in the doorway, coming toward Jim. "Yeah, they're out for the day."

Jim smiled lazily. "Then come here," he suggested.

Blair lay down beside him and Jim pulled him close. Having Blair in his arms was the best feeling in the world. After all the years they'd been together, after everything they'd been through, Jim was still in love with Blair. He kissed his lover, long and deep, and the stresses of the past few weeks melted away.

When they broke apart, Blair was smiling. "Mm. You missed me, then."

"Too much," Jim said. For a moment, his romantic mood faded. "I could have used your help on this one, Chief. I can't use my senses as fully as I'd like without your backup."

"You should have called," Blair said. "I'd have come." He reached up, stroking Jim's unshaven cheek. "I didn't think you were gonna make it back in time."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, this one was close. Chief, what..."

Blair cut off his words with a kiss and suddenly Jim's arms were full of Blair, squirming above him, pushing the comforter out of the way so he could reach Jim's bare skin. Jim slid his hands down Blair's body and started to pull the shirt out of his pants. Blair was right. Talking could wait.

Jim wrestled Blair down onto the bed, getting them both tangled up in the comforter as he pinned Blair beneath his body. He kissed Blair's neck and Blair's hand at the back of his neck urged him to keep going. Blair arched his neck, making those little pleasure noises that Jim loved so much. He licked down the side of Blair's neck, loving the salty taste and Blair's musky scent. His free hand drifted down Blair's body, over the thick hair on his chest and the hard abdominal muscles. He rested his hand there, feeling the small tremors in Blair's body, then lower, sliding his hand into Blair's pants to cup his cock.

Blair arched into his touch. "Oh, god, Jim..."

Jim smiled, pleased he could still do this to Blair. He began to work his way down Blair's body with his mouth, kissing the hollow of Blair's throat. Blair's moan vibrated through Jim's lips. He raised his head, looking at Blair, feeling a sudden rush of love for his wonderful man.

And sometimes he thought Blair could read his mind, because Blair opened his eyes then, meeting Jim's gaze and he smiled. "I know," Blair said softly. "I love you, too."

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

"Trade secret." Blair sat up a little, awkwardly because Jim was still on top of him, and put his arms around Jim's neck. "I love you, Jim. Want to taste you."

Jim kissed him. "Works for me."

They ended up in a sixty-nine position; Jim on his knees above Blair, leaning over him, taking Blair's cock deep into his mouth while Blair's tongue teased the hard length of him. Jim never tired of this. He loved the feel of Blair's mouth on him, loved the taste of Blair. Blair was teasing him, taking it slow, but that suited Jim. He sucked Blair into his mouth, taking him as deep as he could and swallowing around the thick, hard flesh. Blair's hips jerked, but Jim was ready for that. He could take it. He felt Blair take him fully into his mouth at last, engulfing his cock in warm, wet heat while his hands teased Jim's balls. Jim nearly lost it when Blair pushed a finger inside him but he held on, sucking hard on his lover.

It became a kind of competition, each of them trying to make the other come first. But here Jim had the advantage as his heightened sensory awareness made him acutely aware of Blair's reactions. He cupped Blair's balls with his hand, gently, and with his fingertips he stroked the skin just behind them. He felt Blair shudder when he found the right spot. It was his favourite touch. Jim pressed just a little harder, deep-throating Blair as he did, and that tipped Blair over the edge. Just one thrust and Blair poured himself into Jim's mouth. Jim took it all, happily.

For a moment they were still and then Blair reached up and he began to suck on Jim again.

After, they showered together and made love again. It was then, while Blair was lying naked and wet on their bed, Jim began to talk about the case he'd been working on.

"Torrance claimed he hired me because I'm fast, and he did need quick answers. But that's not the real reason he wanted me. He wanted someone who could say the crazy stuff so he wouldn't have to."

"What do you mean, crazy?" Blair was lying widthways across the bed, his head on Jim's chest, his wet hair cool against Jim's skin. It wasn't uncomfortable. Having Blair close was never uncomfortable.

"They had it down as arson and murder. The eyewitness reports reminded me of one of our old cases in Cascade: Matson. Remember?"

"The arsonist who used rocket fuel with magnesium. But he's dead. Isn't he?"

"Very. My point is this fire was much too hot to be an accidental house fire. But the fire department found no trace of any known accelerant. After I read the reports I figured they must have done a sloppy job, so I went over the scene myself. I didn't find anything, either. Or rather, nothing that could have caused the fire."

"What did you find?"

"This is the crazy part. This was a family home. The father and kids got out. The oldest girl was six; she carried her baby brother out of the nursery to safety. Brave kid. The mother's body was found in what was left of the nursery. But when I went over the scene...Chief, I found a clear outline of her body where she burned. But the outline wasn't purely ash. It was sulphur."

"Sulphur? But that's not..."

"And that's not all. The outline I found...it was on the nursery ceiling."

"Huh?"

"Huh. Exactly. Something - god knows how - pinned that woman's body to the ceiling _before_ the fire started." Jim stared at the ceiling above him. "That's why Torrance called me in. He needed someone to play Mulder so he didn't have to."

"Did ya?" Blair asked.

Jim grinned. "I told it as I saw it, yeah. Talked some bullshit about weird stuff that happens when a fire is that hot. But it was bullshit. What really happened to that woman...I don't know."

"You said there were other cases."

"Yeah. Four that I found. Maybe others."

"Were the others the same? A woman burned on the ceiling?"

"No one will admit to it, Chief. The four cases I identified were arson with an unidentified accelerant in which a woman died. I talked to the local cops in each case. Everyone I spoke to was spooked about something. So, yeah. I think so. Do you know anything that could do that, Chief?"

Blair sat up, turning to face Jim. "Well...maybe the fire, like you said. Some freak thing. If you're asking _me_ to be Mulder, man...no. I can't think of anything that fits."

***

"This is good, Chief," Jim announced. He was lying on the couch in the study, reading through Blair's manuscript.

Blair grinned without turning around. "It's okay," he demurred. "It'll be better when Angie's ripped it to shreds." He was at Jim's computer, going through his email: something Blair did every day as Jim's business manager. He'd tried leaving it to Jim, but they'd discovered that it was easier for both of them if Blair categorised everything first. He dumped the spam and filed the rest into folders: work related mail went into past, current or future, offers of work he printed out so Jim would read them at once, personal mail he left in the inbox so Jim would see that first.

He was just about to close the mailbox when a new email came through, flagged urgent and confidential. Blair looked at the sender. "Are you expecting something from Bob Kittle?" he asked.

Jim jumped up. "Yeah. It's here?" He didn't wait for Blair to answer but came over to the PC.

He didn't tell Blair to move, so Blair stayed where he was, watching the screen as Jim opened the email. It was an encrypted mail with several attachments: certainly confidential material.

The first file was a scanned copy of a police report. The rest seemed to be supporting documents and photographs. Jim scanned through it all quickly - too quickly for Blair to read over his shoulder - as if he were already familiar with the content. He stopped at an image file. It was a driving license image, poor quality but the subject was instantly recognisable.

"Well, Chief?" Jim prompted.

"What is this, Jim?" Now he understood why Bob went to so much trouble to encrypt the email. Giving this file, whatever it was, to Jim was seriously illegal.

"Is that him?" Jim pressed.

Blair nodded.

"When you said the name Winchester it rang a bell, but last night I was too tired to place it. This morning I remembered, Chief. So I asked Bob for a copy of the report."

"This is from the case you were just working on, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, Jim...I don't want to jump to conclusions, man. Coincidences do happen."

"Yeah? Well this is a hell of a coincidence," Jim scoffed. "From what you've told me this pair fit the profile, and this is a weird time of year to come for a vacation."

Blair looked at the photograph again, thinking about Jim's words. Jim had told him a little about the case: enough for Blair to know Jim was right. Jim's profile on the serial murders described a pair of men, under 30, drifters, probably travelling all across the USA as the murders happened in so many different states. That much seemed to fit the Winchester brothers. As for the rest...how could they know? You don't just casually ask a new acquaintance if he was abused as a kid, or any of the other markers a murderer profile would list.

Blair shook his head, looking at Jim. "You're right, but it's totally circumstantial, man."

Jim closed the incriminating email. "Do you know where they are, Chief?"

Blair didn't, and he was kind of glad he didn't. He shook his head.

"Did they leave by car?" Jim asked, then answered his own question. "No, they walked. A car would have woken me." He stood abruptly and strode toward the door.

Blair ran after him. He didn't bother to ask where Jim was going: he knew exactly what his partner was thinking.

***

Sam slipped on the icy path, lost his balance for a moment and managed to right himself without grabbing on to Dean or landing on his ass in the snow.

Even so, Dean was trying not to laugh. "Need some help there, dude?"

"I'm good." Sam refused to rise to the bait. He stamped his feet to get the caked snow off his boots. "Uh...Dean, I hate to be the one to say it, but...about last night..."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Good time."

It was a typical Dean line: a pre-emptive strike to stop Sam from saying something meaningful. Dean had misread him, though. "Dude," Sam said, "you gave me a hickey."

Relief flashed across Dean's face before he covered it with his trademark grin. "Did not!" he protested.

Sam pulled down the neck of his turtleneck sweater to show off the dark bruise Dean left on his neck. "Did too!" he returned, deliberately choosing the childish phrase.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, at least it's on your neck. You wanna see where you bruised me?" His hands went to his belt as if he'd drop his pants right there.

Sam remembered biting down on Dean's inner thigh, teasing him by sucking on the firm muscle when he knew Dean wanted his mouth somewhere else. "I can guess," he grinned back, then, because he really had raised the subject to make a point, he added, "It's been a while since we've done that."

"Yeah."

"Why now?"

Dean shrugged. "Seemed like you started it, Sammy. You're not gonna make a big deal of this, are you?"

"No way. But..." Sam let his voice trail off, unsure how to articulate his unease.

Dean looked back at him, his expression unreadable.

Whatever he said, Dean was going to think he was "making a big deal of it". Sam wasn't feeling guilty. His unease had nothing to do with them being brothers. God, no. Oh, sure, other people wouldn't understand the incest thing but it never bothered Sam. He'd been more confused about the sexuality aspect, because he was sure he wasn't gay, but he'd worked though those issues in college.

No, it was the unthinking ease with which they'd suddenly fallen into each other's arms that was troubling Sam. Maybe that was normal for Dean with his casual, just-for-fun attitude to sex, but it wasn't like Sam.

When they were in Oklahoma Dean made it clear he wanted Sam, if Sam was ready, but he resisted the temptation, then. He was being loyal to Jess, he supposed. Did he feel guilty now? Had he betrayed her memory by spending a night fucking Dean? Sam called up the image of Jess in his mind. It was easy. Not Jess the last time he saw her, burning on his ceiling, but Jess in their bedroom, on their bed. Jess wearing nothing but her lingerie, giggling helplessly as Sam tickled her. Jess, later the same night, cuddled against his side, talking seriously about something as Sam stroked her long hair and thought about how much he loved her. Sam still loved her. But he'd loved Dean first and had loved Dean much longer. He couldn't see being with Dean as a betrayal.

And yet, he was uneasy about it.

Last night, there was no hesitation in him, no thought and that simply wasn't Sam's way. He planned things. He thought stuff through and would rather wait a while longer than dive in when he wasn't sure what he wanted. Even in the heat of passion. He should have thought these thoughts last night, not now. But he hadn't.

Something about it didn't feel right. Sam had no regrets, but... Or was he just fooling himself?

He couldn't talk to Dean when he couldn't figure out what he needed to say. "Never mind," Sam muttered, and they left the marked path to walk down to the creek.

***

The river valley that gave Panther Creek its name was a picturesque spot. Dean and Sam had followed the hikers' route from Stonehaven Lodge which took them above the town and into the valley from the west. The frozen river with its snow-crisped banks looked like something that should grace a Christmas card.

"Lovely place to live," Sam commented.

"Sure," Dean replied sarcastically, "if you wanna live in Bedford Falls."

"Nothing wrong with Bedford Falls," Sam said, a little defensively. "I suppose Twin Peaks is more to your taste."

Dean grinned. "Hell, no. Eerie, Indiana." He was looking up at the tree line. The lowest point of the valley was the river and the trees began partway up the hill. There were some younger trees closer to the river, some bushes and scrub, but it was mostly clear of large vegetation. Sam guessed the valley flooded every decade or so.

Dean wasn't looking at the geography. "I'll bet this is a perfect hunting ground when the snow's gone. Lovers' lane. People out enjoying the scenery by moonlight. Anyone too drunk to drive home."

Sam nodded, looking again and seeing the terrain Dean's way. "Like an all-you-can-eat buffet," he agreed. "The forest provides cover, and an escape route." Their dad taught them that the best way to hunt a werewolf was to identify its hunting ground. They're territorial creatures and tend to hunt in the same places, moon after moon after moon. "I think this is the place," Sam said.

"It's not where the girl died," Dean answered, but he wasn't disagreeing.

"I know." There was no need for Sam to speak the question aloud: they were both thinking the same thing. Should they follow what would probably be their dad's method and stake out the creek, or was it better to stay near the site of the most recent attack? They couldn't do both. Dean had more experience than Sam in this, so Sam stayed quiet, letting Dean make the call.

"The creek," Dean decided. "It was snowing the night the werewolf killed Jean Marsden. She must have been the only person out in the night, so it hunted out of its territory."

Sam nodded. The frozen waterfall at the head of the valley would make a perfect vantage point after the spring thaw but it looked much too dangerous to climb while it was ice-covered. They needed high ground, a place from which they could see both the woods and the valley. Sam had no intention of ending up as bait in a werewolf trap.

There was a rail fence above the creek, marking off a ramblers' pathway. Further up, there was what looked like a rockslide, though it was hard to tell under the snow.

Sam nodded toward the rockslide. "How about up there?" he suggested. When Dean didn't answer, he prompted, "Dude, you with me?" He smacked Dean on his shoulder.

"Huh?" Dean jerked as if waking up and turned, looking where Sam was looking. "Oh. Yeah. Why don't you check it out, Sam? If we're going to climb up there after dark we need to know it's safe."

"Dude, what's _with_ you?" Sam demanded, but then, as his gaze moved past Dean to the pathway behind them, he understood. The girl they met the day before, Erin, was up there, without the dog, this time. For an instant, Sam was pissed. After the night they had, Dean should at least...what? Not look at a woman? _Don't be a jerk, Sam. Dean's not gonna quit chasing girls. Why would he?_

Sam smiled as he turned back to Dean. "She's cute."

"She's amazing," Dean said, a goofy grin on his face.

_That_ got Sam's attention. _Amazing_ was going a bit far for a girl Dean had barely even met. Was last night bothering Dean? Was this some sort of compensation? Surely not...but it was a certainty that Dean would never tell him, either way.

Sam watched Erin come down the snowy bank toward them, her red hair bouncing as she walked. "Enjoy," Sam said, and started walking toward the rockslide, leaving Dean to the girl.

***

Jim did not make a habit of invading their guests' privacy. Nor did he generally bring work home with him. His concerns about the two men were more about the present. Jim was no longer a cop - the very public revelation of his sentinel gift seven years earlier made that impossible, despite Blair's courageous attempt at damage control - but Jim never stopped being a sentinel. A sentinel, as Blair so-often said, was the protector of his tribe.

Panther Creek was his to protect. There was enough danger here already, with the attacks on people becoming more frequent and the local cops in deep denial. If these two men posed some new danger, Jim intended to take care of it before someone else got hurt.

Jim examined the Impala from the outside. Through the window he saw nothing suspicious, but his sense of smell had a different opinion. The smell of gasoline was strong, unsurprisingly, but there was more. He stood there with his hand on the car roof, eyes closed, sorting through the different scents. He smelled gun oil, rust, remnants of old food, leather, smoke, male sweat... too much to identify everything. He also smelled blood - not fresh blood, but the scent was strong enough to worry him.

The nice thing about old cars is they're easy to break into. Jim retrieved his tools. Blair stopped him, holding out an arm to block Jim's way to the Impala.

"Do I have to say 'civil rights' to you, man? You're not a cop any more, you need more than probable cause."

Jim met Blair's eyes seriously. "Blair, I'm obligated to call Agent Bradford and report my suspicions about these two. Shall I do that? Or would you rather I check first?"

"What are you looking for?"

"I'll know when I find it," Jim answered. Truthfully, he thought that if what he was looking for was here, he would have smelled it by now. "_If_ I find it, I mean," he corrected himself. "Some sort of incendiary or accelerant."

"If you don't find it, will you drop this, Jim? At least until you've got real grounds for suspicion." Blair's blue eyes met his determinedly. He still stood between Jim and the car.

Jim had not met their guests as yet. By the time he woke, this morning, they were gone. Blair had met them, and he was a good judge of people. Jim ought to take warning from Blair's discomfort. And yet...Jim trusted his own instincts, too. He had _nothing_. A coincidence, that was all.

"What aren't you telling me?" Jim asked, more gently.

Blair looked up and Jim kissed him, just quickly on his lips. It made Blair smile, but his eyes remained worried. "I like them," he answered simply.

Oh. Jim understood. "As in, _like_, like?"

"I guess."

"Then help me. I promise, if we find nothing, I'll drop it. Deal?"

"Okay." Blair agreed.

It took only seconds to jimmy the car door and then Jim opened the trunk for Blair. Jim took the interior, trusting Blair to go through the trunk. He went for the glove compartment first and what he found there would be more than enough to make an arrest if Jim still had a badge. The gun wasn't actually illegal if it was registered, though Jim was betting it wouldn't be. He saw the FBI badge first and for a millisecond wondered if it were real and he had misjudged the situation. Then he saw the flaws in the logo and looked more closely. It was a very good fake. Reaching further into the compartment he found the rest. Federal Wildlife. State police IDs for several different states. Homeland security. And more. Some bore the face he recognised from the police report; others a different man, presumably the other brother.

Whatever these two were involved in, it wasn't legal.

But the issue here was a murder case, Jim reminded himself. If they were into something else, it wasn't Jim's business any more, though he was still a cop at heart and the thought of letting this go did hurt. But he'd promised Blair. Fake IDs didn't make them killers.

Jim searched the car quickly and professionally. He checked all the usual places by sight and touch: under the seats, inside the doors, the roof and so on. He found three blades concealed in various places. He found several cigarette lighters, which was strange as he detected no sign anyone ever smoked in this car. Not tobacco, not marijuana, nor anything else. But that was the most suspicious thing he found. He put everything he'd found back, carefully, exactly as he found it.

"How're you doing, Chief?" he called.

Blair's voice was very quiet. "Jim, I think you should see this."

Jim closed the car door and moved around to Blair's side quickly. He could already smell the gasoline and gunpowder, neither of which was proof of anything. He was beginning to think, not that they were innocent, but that he might be mistaken about their connection to the murders. So he wasn't prepared for what he saw in the Impala's trunk.

"Oh, man..." Jim breathed.

The trunk was a veritable arsenal: shotguns, handguns, blades ranging from switchblades and throwing knives to something long enough to be considered a sword. An axe. Police issue tazers. A couple of canisters of gasoline and one containing naphtha-based lighter fuel. And more, even stranger stuff.

Blair opened a white plastic tub to reveal what looked like normal cooking salt. He glanced at Jim.

Jim took a tiny amount onto his fingers and tasted. "Exactly what it looks like, Chief. Salt."

"I also found this," Blair said, opening a wooden box to show the contents to Jim.

Bullets. Silver bullets.

"Not UFO nuts, then," Jim said, trying for a light tone to cover the sudden cold in his heart.

Blair met his eyes, not fooled for a second. "I guess..." he began slowly, "at least this proves they're not part of your serial killings."

Jim shook his head. "I wouldn't be so sure, Chief. A lot of serial killers have some twisted justifications of what they do. I think a judge would admit this as evidence of premeditation." He closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with his sense of smell to make certain he had missed nothing. "Hell, with this much firepower I could get an arrest warrant for conspiracy right now...but I don't sense anything that directly connects them to the murders. I'll give you that much." He reached for Blair and pulled him close. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Blair's body was tense against his. "They're hunters, Jim. No wonder Sam was asking about Jean Marsden. Shit."

Blair drew back to look up at Jim and as their eyes met Jim knew they were both thinking the same thing: _What now?_


	3. Chapter 3

Dean hurried toward Erin. In the afternoon sun, her auburn hair was like flames against the snow. He was smiling as he reached her - the easy, practiced smile he always used with the girls.

Erin waved. "Hi, Dean! I was just thinking about you."

What an opening! Dean's smile widened. "Must be fate. Good thoughts, I hope."

"Maybe." She smiled flirtatiously, all huge green eyes and long lashes. "Are we going to see you at Beanies tonight?"

_A world of yes!_ was the reply Dean wanted to give. Unfortunately... "Uh, maybe for an hour, but...well, my brother has plans for us tonight. I tried to talk him out of it, but..."

"You always do what your brother says?"

"Nope." Dean couldn't help glancing over toward his brother. Sam had reached the bottom of the rockslide and was starting to climb. He was well out of earshot, so Dean, improvising quickly, said to Erin, "Sam has some problems, you see. This vacation is supposed to help him but it's hard to leave him at night. Maybe in a few days..." It was a decent enough cover story, but Sam was gonna kill him. What the hell.

Erin's expression was sympathetic. "Shame. I was looking forward to...a drink." She said _drink_ as if she meant something much more fun.

Dean dug into his pocket for the small hip-flask of whiskey he carried. "Me too," he agreed, offering her the flask.

Erin laughed, a merry sound that reached deep inside Dean, warming parts of him the whiskey hadn't yet reached. She took the flask from him and drank. She offered it back to him with a smile and Dean deliberately brushed his fingers over hers as he took it back. She held on to the flask longer than necessary, her hand warm beneath his touch.

Dean took a swig from the flask and pocketed it. He raised a hand to her face, leaning in as if he planned to kiss her, though he didn't, not yet. Just testing the waters. He touched her cheek. "You decided then," he suggested. "About that affair."

She leaned in to his touch. Her smile was dazzling. "Depends."

"On what?"

"Apparently, on your brother. I'm not into threesomes." She looked past Dean, her smile fading. "You should tell him to be careful, Dean. If he falls from there...well, people have died before."

Dean let his hand fall, turning to stand beside her and watch Sam. "He won't fall," he said confidently, but her concern gave him an opening to ask further questions. "Seems a lot of people die around here," Dean tried.

Erin became very serious. "It seems that way. Tourists can be such idiots. We always have a few bodies turn up in the summer."

That was probably true, Dean thought. "Jean wasn't a tourist," he said thoughtfully.

Erin moved a few steps away from him. "No, she wasn't," she answered quietly. Dean watched her for a moment. Erin looked back at Dean. "Do you think...?" she began, then fell silent.

Dean moved up to her side again and was surprised when she took his hand. He liked it, though. Her hand felt tiny and delicate within his. "What is it?" he asked gently.

Erin shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Erin, do you know something? About Jean?"

"What's it to you? You're just on vacation."

Dean hesitated. "I'm...curious," he began, but that sounded idiotic even to him. He tried again. "Erin, look. I'm on vacation now, you're right, but when I'm not on vacation I'm with the FBI. I'm getting the feeling there's something going on here I should know about. Do you know something?"

Her eyes went wide. "You're a cop?"

"Federal agent, yeah."

"Prove it," she said, but it sounded more like a plea than a challenge.

Dean sighed. "My ID is in my car, back at the farm," he told her truthfully. "If you really need to see it I'll show you next time we meet." He squeezed her hand. "Erin," he asked again, "do you know something? If you tell me, I can help."

He released her hand and stripped off his jacket, laying it down on the snow-covered hillside. With a gesture he invited her to sit and when she did, he joined her, positioning himself so he could keep an eye on Sam while they talked. Dean put an arm around Erin's shoulders and she leaned into his body.

"It's not about Jean," she said in a small voice.

"You can tell me," Dean told her encouragingly.

"You'll think I'm crazy."

Dean shrugged, fighting to keep his expression neutral. She did know something. She'd seen something. "No, sweetheart, you don't seem crazy to me."

She cuddled closer to him. "Well...I live up there." She pointed to a gap in the trees. "There's a great view of the creek from my bedroom. One night last summer I was looking out and I saw..." she broke off.

"What did you see?"

"There was someone running. And this...this _thing_ following behind. Chasing him, I think."

"Do you know what this thing was?"

She shook her head. "I thought it was a wolf, but I've never seen one that big. It was twice, three times the size of a wolf. They ran down there..." Erin pointed toward the frozen river, "and I lost sight of them in the bushes. Then...oh, I can't believe I'm telling you this! Then...a few minutes later I saw a person leave the bushes. Never saw the thing...animal...whatever it was, leave. But the next day they found a body down there. A man." She looked up at him, her expression scared. "It's crazy, right?"

For a moment, looking into Erin's scared eyes, Dean wanted to tell her it wasn't crazy at all, it was exactly what he'd known was happening. But to be truthful about this _was_ crazy. He pretended to consider her question seriously. "A man and an animal go in, a man walks out and a dead man is left behind. Are you sure that's what you saw, Erin?"

"I'm not crazy. I'm not! And I didn't imagine it!"

"I've heard stranger stories," Dean said slowly, pretending he didn't want to believe it. "Do you know who the dead man was?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't a local. It was a Scottish name. MacAndrew or something...I don't remember."

McAdam. Dean remembered the name. One of the possible werewolf victims he'd listed for Sam before they came here. "You think Jean was killed by the same thing, don't you?"

She pulled away from him, looking at him in astonishment. "You believe me?"

"I believe you saw something. And," he added grimly, "I'm going to find out what it was."

"Thank you! Oh, thank you!" Erin turned her face up and Dean just couldn't help himself. He kissed her. She came into his arms and the kiss escalated fast. Erin was hot and eager against his body and damn if Dean wasn't hard as a rock in seconds. If it wasn't so cold he would have lain her down right then and there.

***

Sam reached the top of the rockslide and turned to look back at his brother, wiping sweat from his brow. It was quite a climb, but the way up wasn't too icy. They'd be able to make it.

He saw Dean. He blinked, not quite sure he could believe his eyes. Sam was rock climbing and Dean was having a make-out session. _Fuck, Dean, can't you ever quit? You're supposed to have my back, dude._ God, the girl was practically giving him a lapdance!

Sam dragged his gaze away from his brother and dragged his mind back to the job at hand. From where he stood Sam had a perfect view of the area: the creek, the woods and the pathway. The broken boulders at the top would be adequate shelter. It was the best spot.

Sam looked up at the sky. It would be dark in four, maybe five hours: that left plenty of time for them to go back, eat supper and load up with silver bullets.

If Dean didn't need to get a room first.

***

"I'm just sayin'. Don't you think it's convenient that she told you _exactly_ what we most needed to know?"

Dean frowned at him. "She was scared, dude. She needed someone to trust." He grinned proudly. "That was me."

Dean propped the Impala's trunk open and reached inside for a handgun. He popped the clip out and replaced it with silver bullets. Sam watched him before doing the same thing. He checked the safety and pushed the gun through his belt. Then he zipped up his jacket, concealing the gun.

"You best keep that in reach, dude," Dean advised.

It took Sam right back to his early lessons from their dad: a gun is useless if you're still trying to draw while the bad guy slits your throat. Either wear it for a fast draw, or don't waste your time packing.

"I'll open the jacket when we're clear of people," Sam said. He took a blade from the trunk, too, as a backup weapon, though if he got close enough to need it he was going to be in serious trouble. A werewolf bite could have major lifestyle consequences.

Beside him, Dean was packing as much as he could carry, including a pair of throwing knives.

Werewolf. It was a long time since Sam last hunted a werewolf. Their dad claimed they were one of the easier supernatural beasts to hunt, because in wolf form they think like an animal, not a person. To Sam, that wasn't comforting. A ghost or a wendigo will kill you, but it won't try to make you what it is. There was no magical protection you could use against a werewolf; no circle it couldn't cross, no spell to protect you from its bite. Some humans seemed to have a natural immunity, but you wouldn't know if you were one of them until it was too late. Silver was a werewolf's only weakness.

Dean slapped Sam on the back and handed him a flashlight. "You ready, soldier?"

Sam nodded. "Ready."

***

Blair stood at the bedroom window, gazing out into the night. There was no moon yet, but it would rise soon. He could feel Jim behind him before Jim's hands slipped around his waist and Jim hugged him close from behind, resting his chin on Blair's shoulder.

"You okay, Chief?"

In answer, Blair leaned back into Jim's body. The heat of Jim's chest against Blair's bare back warmed him, reminding him of their recent lovemaking. Jim kissed his neck, breathing in Blair's scent and it made Blair smile.

"You should follow them, Jim."

"I should be with you," Jim answered firmly.

"They need your protection more than I do, man." Blair turned around in Jim's arms, looking up into his eyes.

Jim's arms tightened around Blair's waist. "I'm not so sure. Jeanie was killed very near to us, Chief. It's coming closer every time."

"Good!" Blair answered fiercely. He meant it. They'd lived with this...this _thing_ for too long. Blair wanted to see the face of his enemy. He was ready for it. But he fretted about the Winchesters. Sam and Dean were unprepared. "Jim, they don't know what they're up against. Please, man."

"Are you sure?" Jim kissed him again.

If that was supposed to tempt Blair to come back to bed, it couldn't work. Not tonight. Blair nodded. "I'm sure."

Jim released him, then, going over to the closet. "Okay. Blair, while I'm gone..."

"I'll be careful," Blair promised, still gazing out into the night. The first slivers of moonlight were visible behind the mountain. Behind him, Jim was dressing. Blair pulled on a air of pants and pushed his feet into shoes without bothering with socks. He looked back at Jim who was tying on his combat boots.

The things unsaid hung between them. Blair almost spoke, but the words stuck in his throat. As understanding as Jim was, this was one thing they rarely talked about directly.

Blair left the room without saying goodbye. He knew Jim would do as he asked.

He walked past the stable to the storage sheds. The first was their hay store. He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him. He did not turn on a light. The bales of hay were stacked chest-high in neat rows, allowing Blair to move between them. Against the rear wall was a wooden chest; this, Blair opened. He stripped off his clothing, placing everything neatly in the chest.

Nude, Blair turned toward the doorway, looking up at the sky. The almost-full moon was high and he'd held on for too long. He could wait no longer.

Blair fell to his knees in the hay. The first threads of the Change always made him nauseous; it was anticipation of the pain. He balled up his fists in the hay and gritted his teeth as his bones began to shift and stretch. The sound of his joints popping and reforming was loud in his ears and somehow Blair did not cry out. His skin burned and split open in great long gashes. Not blood but fur poured out of those unnatural wounds, sliding over him like liquid, engulfing his body. That ain tore a cry of agony from him, a scream that became less and less human. The pain of the Change was less than it used to be, but it would never be pain-free. Blair's jaw elongated, teeth moving and growing and Blair's scream became a howl.

Finally, it was over. Where a man once knelt, there lay a huge, grey wolf, but it was still Blair. Blair sat back on his haunches in the hay, panting hard. The Change always left him weak, for a moment or two.

Outside, the forest and the hills were bathed in moonlight. They called to Blair. Recovering, he yipped excitedly, forgetting the enemy out there, forgetting the brothers, forgetting even Jim. He forgot everything except the life of the forest out there, where he belonged. He bounded out of the shed into the snow.

It was time to hunt.

***

Jim found the brothers easily.

Unlike them, he was dressed for the terrain: all in black so he couldn't be seen against the trees. Jim was armed: a knife strapped to his thigh and a gun in a shoulder holster. His gun was loaded with steel, not silver, bullets.

The Winchesters weren't complete amateurs, Jim noted. They'd done their research, identifying the creek as the most likely location to find this creature. Their vantage point was well-chosen: above the rockslide where they could see most of the creek, and they were staying put. Maybe they didn't need as much protection as Blair feared.

They didn't have Jim's advantage, though. He chose a spot behind the tree line and settled down to wait, extending his senses throughout the area. Jim was aware of wildlife all around them, but there was no sign of the creature, or of any people except himself and the Winchesters.

Jim did not expect to encounter the creature tonight, but part of him hoped they would. The brothers made good bait.

He'd taken Jeanie Marsden's death personally. In part it was because the attack on her happened so close to Stonehaven Lodge that Jim should have heard it; maybe he couldn't have saved her, but he hadn't tried. He and Blair had been tracking this thing for over six years: ever since they took over the farm. They were no closer to finding it, no closer, even to knowing what it was. Jim didn't like using a pair of innocents as bait, and he _would_ protect them if it came to that, but he was ready to consider it. He wanted this thing dead before it killed again.

Jim heard the distant howl of a wolf and smiled grimly to himself.

***

Sitting around wasn't much of a plan.

Dean unscrewed the hip flask he was carrying and took a mouthful of whiskey. He offered the flask to Sam, who took it. He heard the distant howl of a wolf and looked at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "It's a long way off. Could be a real wolf."

Dean nodded. There was a difference between a werewolf's howl and that of a natural wolf, but he'd never been able to tell them apart without hearing both. "Yeah, could be," he agreed.

Sam was rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Dude, we've been here for hours. Maybe we should try someplace else."

Dean checked his watch. It was past midnight. "Got a better plan, Sammy? I'm listening."

"The werewolf is going to be hunting, right? They have a compulsion to kill. So unless there are people around, it'll go looking for a sheep or deer or something."

"Yeah." Dean took back his flask and pocketed it. "You want to head into the woods?"

"Well, I don't think it's gonna just wander our way."

Sam was right, and Dean stood to lead the way up the hill. They had to stay within sight of the town lights, though. The woodland stretched on for many miles and there was a real danger of getting lost in there. They walked cautiously, Dean checking the ground ahead by flashlight. It was very dark beneath the trees and the snow was much more sparse.

Once, Dean thought he heard a sound behind them and he whirled, gun in hand, his flashlight searching the darkness. But there was nothing there.

It was nearly 3am when they heard it. Dean reached out a hand to stop Sam, but it wasn't necessary. Sam heard it, too. The sound was growling, grunting...some kind of predator. They looked at each other. Dean drew his gun and moved toward the sound.

The first thing he saw was the fallen deer. The wolf was lost in the shadow until it moved. The sheer size proved it was a werewolf; no natural wolf grew so large. It seemed unaware of them, its bloody jaws buried in the guts of its kill.

Dean signalled Sam to circle around, just in case. Sam hesitated. It was too dark for Dean to see Sam's expression and if either of them spoke they would alert the wolf. He signalled again and this time Sam obeyed.

The wolf looked up suddenly. Its eyes met Dean's and it growled. Dean took aim at its heart. It wasn't going to kill anyone else.

He began to squeeze down on the trigger.

A shout came from behind him and something slammed into Dean's back. The gun in his hand went off and he heard the wolf yelp in pain even as he fell. Someone was on him, wrestling him to the ground and it wasn't Sam. Dean struck out at his assailant. Whoever it was, he was ready for Dean's reaction. Dean found himself on his back, held down, the man straddling his body as he twisted the gun from Dean's hand. It was then Dean recognised Jim Ellison as Jim released the clip from Dean's gun, letting it fall to the ground.

By then Sam was there, his gun steady in a two-handed grip, aimed at Jim's head. "Stop!" he ordered.

Ellison turned his head enough to look at Sam, still holding Dean down. "Put the gun down, kid. You're not going to shoot me."

Ellison sounded very confident but Dean wasn't so sure. He believed Sam would shoot to protect Dean. Dean would kill to protect _him_. But now Sam's hands were shaking around the gun. Killing a person, someone they knew, wasn't easy.

"Let Dean go," Sam ordered. His aim never wavered.

Dean craned his neck to see where the werewolf had gone. There was no sign of it. Damn! He hadn't killed the wolf. He'd wounded it. Now it would be ten times more dangerous. "Where's the werewolf?" he asked.

Sam, never taking his eyes off Jim, answered, "You wounded it, Dean. We've got to go after it."

Dean agreed. As Jim started to get off him, slowly, Dean reached toward the clip Jim had dropped from his gun. Jim kicked it away and threw the gun far into the shadows.

"You're not going anywhere," Jim announced.

"I'm the one with the gun," Sam reminded him. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

Jim was on his feet now. He took a step toward Sam. "I have a better idea than you do. If you go after that wolf, you'll have to go through me." He reached out and covered Sam's hands with his own. "You're not a killer, are you, Sam?"

"That werewolf is," Dean said. He moved to stand beside his brother.

Jim shook his head, taking the gun from Sam's hands. "No, he's not."

"Oh, my god," Sam whispered. "You know who it is."

At that, Jim's expression changed. "I know who _you_ are, too," he said coldly. "You kids playing Van Helsing in the woods - don't you care that a werewolf is a _person_ twenty eight days out of the month?"

Dean answered, "It's not a person. It just looks like one."

He saw the punch coming, but too late to avoid it. The next thing he knew he was waking up with a bitch of a headache and Sam leaning over him, saying his name over and over.

***

By the time Jim reached the barn, the sweat was soaking through his shirt and sweater. "Blair?" he called out breathlessly, but he already knew Blair was inside. He could smell the blood.

Jim made his way through the bales and found Blair at the back, hidden behind the stacked hay. Blair had made an attempt to dress - he was wearing pants - but the pants were covered with the blood that still flowed from his right arm. He was cradling the arm against his body, moaning in pain.

"Oh, god, Blair..." Jim knelt down beside him. He stripped off his coat and laid is across Blair's shoulders, then held him close. "It's okay, Blair. You'll be okay."

Blair cuddled close to him, giving no answer but another moan, muffled against Jim's chest.

"Let me see, love," Jim urged. He had to stop hugging Blair to move around him and look at the arm. Blair allowed him to straighten his wounded arm. Jim examined the wound as best he could, with a light touch but mostly with his sentinel vision.

"It's silver," Blair said, his voice very quiet.

Jim answered, "I know. Chief, the bullet is still in there."

Blair nodded.

"Can you walk? We've got to get that out of you."

Blair nodded again and Jim helped him to stand. He had to half-carry Blair into the house.

In their bathroom, Jim sat Blair on the edge of the tub. In the bathroom cupboard he had everything he needed: gauze, bandages and a sterile scalpel. He cleaned the worst of the blood away with some gauze and then began to tear open the sterile packaging of the scalpel. He looked at Blair. He was pale, but he seemed okay. Surprisingly okay, all things considered. No signs of shock.

Jim gripped Blair's arm at the elbow. "I'm sorry, love, but this is going to hurt."

Blair spoke through gritted teeth. "No, man. It can't hurt worse than it does already. Get it out of me, Jim."

Jim nodded, understanding, and began to cut into his lover's flesh.

***

"Whoa!" Dean kicked at the snow on the track and stared at Sam. "Are you kidding me?"

Sam met his brother's angry eyes. "No, dude, I'm serious. I've got a bad feeling about this one."

"Well, excuse me, Obi-Wan, but I'm not bailing on a hunt. What the hell would Dad say?"

"Dad's not here, Dean," Sam pointed out impatiently. But he knew that Dean was right. They were in Panther Creek because people were dying. Sam didn't want to give up. He gazed up at the star-topped mountains, unable to explain his unease.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean's voice was softer suddenly. "Another premonition?"

"No, not a psychic thing." Sam was remembering the look on Jim's face when he hit Dean. "We know for sure that Jim is protecting this werewolf. Dean...is it possible he's right? That the werewolf is a person?"

"Maybe he believes it, but we know better." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "He _knows_ who the werewolf is. That means Blair knows, too." He groaned. "God, my head hurts!"

"You could have a concussion..." Sam began worriedly, but was stopped by Dean's withering look. Okay: Dean wasn't going to seek help. "Fine, I'll find you some painkillers," Sam conceded. "Dude, I knew Blair was hiding something. When we talked he was..." Sam stopped as they reached the gate to Stonehaven Lodge, staring at the wolf on the gate post. _Oh, my god..._ He looked at Dean.

Dean frowned at him. "He was what?"

With an effort, Sam found his place in the conversation. "I don’t know...uh...the way Blair talked it was..." He smiled suddenly, "It reminded me of Dad. His dumbass need-to-know thing. There was _something_ Blair wasn't saying." And the suspicion slowly growing in Sam's mind made him stare, again, at the carved and painted wolf on the gate.

No. It was impossible. It was crazy. Werewolves were animals. They were killers. Blair was a person, warm and human.

But those novels that Sam so identified with...heroes with secrets...it fit too well. It couldn't be true. Damn it, Sam _liked_ Blair! He wasn't about to put a silver bullet in his heart.

"They might not want us to stay, after tonight," Sam said.

"Oh, ya think?" Dean returned sarcastically.

Sam shrugged. "We'll be safe enough until morning, I think." He wasn't too comfortable with the idea of spending another night at Stonehaven Lodge, but he was worried about Dean's head injury. Dean needed to rest, even if only for a couple of hours. Sam was going to sleep with a gun, just in case, though, and he knew Dean would do the same.

***

While Jim slept, Blair lay awake. He appreciated Jim's care but the bandage on his arm was making him crazy. It was an animal thing, he thought: this need to worry at a hurt. He slid quietly out of the bed and headed into their bathroom. He unwrapped the bandage Jim had tied so carefully and took a close look at the wound. It looked like a fresh wound, the arm laid open to the muscle. The skin wasn't swollen or red, the way a human's wound would be, but it wasn't healing yet, either. It was just an open gash.

One of the few advantages to being a werewolf was an immunity to most infection and disease, but Blair wasn't certain whether that would apply to a silver-wound. He'd been warned to treat silver as if he had a deadly allergy; now he understood why. Having that bullet inside him had been the worst pain Blair ever felt; like a red hot fire burning him from the inside. His new number-one goal in life was never to get hurt like that again.

Blair cut off a piece of the bandage and tied it around his arm to hold the skin together, ensuring that the muscle would heal correctly. He saw no need to use a hospital-style dressing.

Back in the bedroom, Blair selected a shirt to wear: long sleeves so no one would notice the wound and black just in case it started bleeding again. By then Jim was awake, sitting up in bed watching him.

"You are one stubborn wolf, you know that?"

Blair grinned at him, pulling on a pair of pants. Now the arm was silver-free it didn't hurt too badly. It _did_ hurt to use it, but he could. He should be able to cover the injury.

"D'you want me to make breakfast?" Jim offered.

Blair sat beside him on the bed. "I'm good, man. Are they awake?"

Jim closed his eyes, listening for a moment. "Yeah, they are. We've got some time, though. The shower's running."

"I'm surprised they're still here."

"I locked the garage, but they haven't tried to leave."

Something in Jim's tone made Blair look at him worriedly. "Jim, what are you thinking?"

"Whatever their intentions, Chief, they nearly killed you last night. And they're implicated in a federal murder case."

Blair nodded. "But you're not a cop any more, Jim. Whatever you're thinking, you can't. You've already violated a few laws checking up on them."

Jim smiled, and the smile was cold. "I just want to have a conversation."

***

Blair began to lay out the breakfast dishes, but as he did, pain shot through his wounded wrist. His hand spasmed and the last plate fell. It hit the edge of the table and continued falling to shatter on the tiled floor.

"Shit!" Blair muttered. He bent to pick up the pieces, but Jim got there ahead of him.

Jim knelt, but instead of reaching for the broken plate, he reached for Blair's hand. "How bad is it, Chief?" he asked gently.

Blair looked up at Jim. He was carrying his gun, concealed beneath the loose sweater. Blair chose not to comment on it, but he knew Jim was worried.

Blair let Jim draw him to his feet. "It's alright." He tried to pull his hand away.

"Let me see," Jim insisted. He held Blair's wrist firmly, unbuttoned the shirt cuff and pushed the sleeve up to Blair's elbow. It revealed the wound, a raw, open gash with the skin around it pink and raw. Jim's fingers hovered over the damaged flesh and Blair knew he was feeling the heat pouring off the wound.

"Jim, it's alright," he said again.

"You need stitches in that."

"No, I don't. The bleeding has stopped, finally. I just need to let it heal."

Jim was still holding his wrist. "Are you sure it _will_ heal?"

Blair drew his hand out of Jim's grip. "I've never been shot with silver before, man. How can I be sure? But you got it all out. It should be fine." He rolled his shirt sleeve back down, turning away from Jim to avoid more questions he couldn't answer. He stopped.

Sam was standing in the kitchen doorway.

How much had he heard? Blair said quickly, "Hi, Sam. Did you want coffee?"

Sam came toward him and, just as Jim had done, he grabbed Blair's wrist and pushed back his sleeve. He stared down at the unnatural wound, then at Blair. "It was you. You're the werewolf."

Blair stared into Sam's face, and quickly dismissed any thought of trying to bluff it out. He was aware of Jim moving silently to flank Sam. Blair answered simply, "Yes."

Sam began to turn away. Jim moved into his path.

"Why are you protecting him?" Sam demanded. "He killed that girl..."

Jim said quietly, "No, he didn't."

Blair said, "I haven't killed anyone, Sam."

"Are you saying there's another werewolf out there?"

"No," Blair answered. "The only wolf is me."

Jim, still speaking very quietly, said, "Sam, this isn't something Blair _chose_. It's not a crime he's committed. This is something that was done _to_ him. Three minutes ago you two were good friends. Don't you think you owe Blair a hearing?"

Sam turned to Jim, and his look was challenging. "I might, if you weren't holding me here against my will."

Jim smiled. "I'm not holding you, kid."

Sam started to step around Jim. "Don't call me 'kid'."

Sam was a reasonable man, and Jim was right: they were friends. Blair could salvage this situation. He had to. Blair said, "Jim, give him your gun."

Jim gave him wide eyes, but he drew the gun from his holster. He showed Sam that it was loaded, but the chamber was empty, then slid the clip back into place, checked that the safety was on and then handed it to Sam, butt first. Sam took the gun without speaking and rechecked both clip and safety. Very professional.

Sam pushed the gun through his belt. "Why?" he asked Blair.

"Because I trust you, even if you don't trust me."

"It's not loaded with silver."

Blair gave him an unhappy smile. "I don't trust you _that_ much. Come and sit down, Sam. I think we've got a lot to talk about." He waited for Sam's nod, then looked at Jim. "D'you think you can distract Dean for a while, man?"

Jim nodded. "I'll try."

Blair smiled for Jim and then sat down at the table with Sam. "I know that you and Dean are hunters. I know you believe werewolves are monsters. All I can say, Sam, is you don't know everything. I _am_ a wolf, but I didn't kill those people. I've spent the past six years trying to track the thing that did."

Sam shook his head. "The sheriff said there were wolf tracks around the latest body."

"Yeah, because I was in wolf form when found her. But Jean was already dead."

"How can I trust that? You lied to us."

"You showed up here with silver bullets, man! Why do you _think_ I lied? I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you what I know without coming out to you."

"You should have tried the truth. I've been doing this my whole life, dude. You cover very well, but I'm not stupid."

Blair stared at him, genuinely surprised. "Man...where did I slip up?"

"The wall chart in your study shows Jim is never away at the time of the full moon. At first I thought it was him. But you eat meat at every meal, even snacks. Your fear of horses: I'm betting it's the other way around - they freak when you go in there, right? And the way you were conveniently absent last night confirmed it." Sam looked down at Blair's hands. "The silver ring is a nice touch. Doesn't that hurt?"

Blair twisted the ring on his finger. It was the wedding ring Jim had given him: a plain band of silver metal. Jim's was identical. "It's platinum," he said quietly.

"Is your arm okay?" Sam asked, more gently.

Blair nodded. "I think it will heal. Hurt like hell, though." He rubbed at the wound unconsciously, noticed he was doing it and jerked his hand away. "I suppose you want to know everything?"

"Yeah."

"I've been a werewolf for over six years, Sam. Since just before Jim and I moved here. It's _why_ we moved here."

"Hunting ground," Sam guessed.

Blair smiled. "More for privacy, really, but you're not wrong. Sam, when this happened to me, my whole life had just fallen apart. I was a doctoral candidate at Rainier University in Cascade. I was crazy in love with Jim. I had friends, a future...and I lost all of it over an incredibly stupid mistake. I was miserable as hell, pretending things would get better when I knew it wasn't fixable. So I said goodbye to everyone and took a road trip. I let Jim and my friends think I'd be back when I'd got my head together, but I never had any such intention. Until I nearly died."

Blair ran a hand through his curly hair. "I was driving through Montana, sleeping in a pup tent on the side of the roads because I couldn't afford a motel. One night I was attacked by a wolf. A werewolf, but I didn't know it then. It left me for dead, but someone came along and found me. Called 911. Jim's name was still in my wallet as 'in case of emergency', so the hospital called him."

***

#### Helena, MT, June 1999

_Blair lay in the hospital bed, unable to move because it hurt too damn much. Morphine kept the pain at bay, but in a way that was worse and he'd asked the doctors to cut back on it. Now he was just bored._

_He was getting tired of dying. One near-death experience should be enough for any man. The first one - drowning in the fountain outside Rainier - still haunted Blair. Too much was unexplained. Too much even Jim would never discuss. Blair was alive because Jim, somehow, brought him back. Jim made him live again with only the touch of his hands._

_Blair didn't need to go through all that again._

_Even so, when Jim knocked on his door a few minutes later, Blair was really glad to see him. Especially when he saw what Jim had with him: Jim brought him books! The hospital allowed Blair visitors for only two hours each day: he was still considered "critical". Maybe he was, but Blair was feeling better._

_He watched Jim take a seat and drag it over to his side. "Hi, Chief. How are you doing today?"_

_"Better. Maybe I'm too tough to kill after all. What d'you think?"_

_"I think you're gonna be home in no time."_

_"You'll be home sooner. When do you have to go back?"_

_Jim smiled. "I don't."_

_"You don't have that much vacation time saved up, man."_

_"I told Simon what happened to you and said he could either give me a month's unpaid leave or he could have my resignation. He told me not to tempt him and gave me the month."_

_"But..." Blair began, thinking it wasn't going to take him a whole month to recover. He winced, because he'd started to shake his head and that hurt like fuck. "Never mind," he finished._

_"Simon's your friend, too," Jim said._

_Blair managed a smile. "Yeah, I know."_

_Jim didn't return the smile. In fact, he looked very serious suddenly, and Blair realised how worried Jim had been. Maybe he still was. Did Jim know something Blair hadn't been told?_

_"Jim, is everything okay?" Blair asked worriedly._

_Jim shook his head. "The doc says you're healing faster then they expected. At this rate you'll be ready to leave the hospital soon. A few days."_

_"Is that bad news?"_

_"I honestly don't know, Chief. I need to know what you remember about what happened out there. Everything you remember."_

_Blair frowned, gazing up at the white ceiling. "I don't know, man. I've been over it so many times and I haven't a clue what happened."_

_"I know you've had to tell it for the local cops, and the doctors. Just one more time, Chief. It's important."_

_Jim was almost begging and that wasn't necessary. Blair would tell him anything he needed to know. "Best I can figure it was some kind of feral dog. Maybe a wolf, but this isn't exactly wolf territory."_

_"No, it's not." Jim leaned forward, reaching out to pat Blair's shoulder. "Blair, I know you don't remember much, but I really need you to tell me everything. Even if it seems weird."_

_Blair nodded, and the movement hurt...but less than before. "I was asleep. The tent was open at the feet end. I woke up and saw this...this shape at the opening. It was definitely an animal. I could hear it...I could fucking smell it." Blair broke off, directing a sudden smile to Jim. "I guess living with you has taught me to pay more attention to my senses."_

_Jim smiled back. "This shape..." he prompted._

_"Yeah. I'm not sure, man, I don't remember too clearly. At the time, I thought _wolf_ but it was big, bigger than any wolf I've ever seen. Could have been...I dunno, man. I guess I was so scared it seemed bigger than it really was."_

_Jim nodded. "That's possible."_

_"I sat up, yelled, and it came at me. I remember it was growling - definitely canine - and then...well, that's about all I remember. I woke up in an ambulance." Blair sighed. "Jim, clue me in, man. What's going on?"_

_Jim was silent for a long time, long enough that Blair raised his head to look at him again. "Jim?"_

_Jim met Blair's eyes and it was a look that scared the shit out of Blair because Jim actually looked frightened. "Chief, this is gonna sound like I've lost the last of my marbles, but I'm asking you to trust me. Okay?"_

_"I trust you, Jim," Blair answered instantly. "You shouldn't even have to ask."_

_Jim took a deep breath. "I think what attacked you might have been...Chief, I think it was a werewolf."_

_Despite promising Jim his trust, Blair shook his head. "No fucking way, man. That's crazy. There's no such thing."_

_"A few years ago, I wouldn't have believed it, either. But I've seen visions, ghosts and spirit animals. I've raised the dead, for god's sake! I'm a little more open to the paranormal than I used to be."_

_"Well, yeah, we've both seen some weird stuff, but..."_

_Chief, it was a full moon night when you were attacked. And..." he fell silent again, looking very uncomfortable. Finally, he said, "It's you, Blair. When I first came in here, yesterday, there was something wrong. I...I didn't think it was you. I even thought, maybe you had an identical twin Naomi never mentioned, or something like that. But you _are_ you, and it took me a while to figure out why I thought otherwise."_

_Blair waited, truly scared now._

_Jim said, "You smell different, Blair. You don't smell human."_

_Blair felt the blood drain from his face. The idea was insane. It simply couldn't be true. But Jim had invoked his sentinel ability and that left Blair with no choice. He had to believe Jim's senses._

***

Jim didn't like Dean Winchester much. The kid was a streetwise punk playing with guns and fake IDs. And, of course, he shot Blair. He shot Blair with a silver bullet. No, Jim didn't like him at all.

When he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Blair and Sam to talk, Jim started toward the guest wing. Then he stopped, listening. He concentrated briefly, excluding the kitchen from the field of his hearing. He nodded to himself. Dean was in the garage. Jim walked that way, hearing the keys clink in his pocket as he moved. He opened the door to the garage quietly. The Impala's trunk was open, the black-painted metal hiding Dean from Jim's sight. The scents of gasoline and gunpowder were strong. Jim closed the garage door behind him, leaning back against the doorframe.

"Illegal guns, identity theft, fake federal IDs... Do you have any idea how fast I could have your ass in jail?"

Dean slammed the trunk shut. He stared at Jim, his look angry, not scared. "How about sheltering a killer? How many people have died around here while you protect that werewolf? I could have ended this last night."

Jim kept himself between Dean and the door. "It's not what you think, Van Helsing."

The green eyes narrowed. "Just how dumb do you think I am?"

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Nothing here is what it seems to be, is it? For instance..." Dean looked back over his shoulder to Jim's Hummer, parked on the far side of the garage. "How does an ex-cop afford a truck like _that_? Not by being honest, dude: I know what those things cost."

Jim had to smile, because Dean was right, and it told Jim he'd taken a close look at the truck. Jim's Hummer was a custom job and cost more than he'd paid for Stonehaven Lodge. It was logical for Dean to assume he'd come by it dishonestly. But he was wrong about that.

"It was a bonus payment for a job," Jim said. Truth, as far as it went.

"Some bonus."

"I was working security for...someone very rich and famous, when a relative of my client was kidnapped. I got the victim back alive and unhurt, and I kept the incident out of the media. My client offered me the Hummer because my old truck got trashed during the job." He looked past Dean to the Hummer. She was a monster and a fuel hog, but she could get through any terrain even in the worst conditions and she'd never let him down. His gaze moved to the Impala. "Blair likes old cars like yours," he said casually. "She's a beauty."

Jim had said the right thing: Dean looked down at the car automatically and his eyes softened as he ran a hand over the smooth black paint. "She was my Dad's," he said. Then his expression hardened again. "You didn't come looking for me to talk cars."

"No, I didn't," Jim agreed. He studied Dean for a moment, noting the body language, the careful way he held himself. Jim couldn't see a gun, but he was certain Dean was armed. Jim didn't want this to turn nasty.

"You're right about one thing, Dean," Jim conceded. "I _am_ protecting the wolf. Hear me out," he added quickly, raising a hand to forestall whatever Dean was about to say. "He's not a killer. Think about it. You found him last night with a _deer_, didn't you? If he wanted to hunt people you and your brother made really good prey out there. He knew you were out there."

Dean's eyes widened, just a little. "It's Blair?"

Everything in Jim wanted to lie, but Dean was going to find out soon enough anyway. Jim nodded.

"You son of a bitch! Sam's alone with him!" Dean went for his gun, moving toward Jim.

Jim put himself between Dean and the door, keeping his eyes on the gun. "Sam's been alone with him before. They're just talking, Dean, and Sam is armed. He's perfectly safe." Sam had Jim's gun, but he'd been armed when he walked into the kitchen: Jim had smelled the gun oil. Which meant Sam had two guns, and one was likely loaded with silver. But he was certain Dean knew that, so he said nothing.

Dean's hands were very steady on the gun. "He's your lover. You'd do anything to protect him. _Say_ anything." The words were quietly spoken and Jim knew he was willing to shoot.

"You're wrong about that." Jim looked past Dean to the Hummer. "I want to show you something. In the truck. Just listen to what I have to say. I give you my word, Sam is in no danger."

Dean nodded warily, as if he expected some trick. He lowered the gun, but kept it in his hand, his finger tense on the trigger.

It was good enough. Jim walked past him to the Hummer and unlocked the passenger door. He kept a stainless steel case under the seat. The key to the case Jim kept on him at all times. Why keep it in the truck? Mostly because the Hummer was _his_ territory: Blair had his own truck. Jim unlocked the case and held it out for Dean to examine the contents.

Puzzlement showed on the younger man's face, but Dean lifted the lid. "Nice gun," he commented.

"Not the gun. Look at the bullets." The gun was a standard .38 but the bullets were custom made. Jim didn't keep the gun loaded.

Dean's frown deepened, but he prised one of the bullets out of the foam case. "It's glass?" he questioned.

"The casing is," Jim explained. "They're filled with silver nitrate."

Dean got the point. But more than that. Jim could see it in his shocked eyes: understanding. Full, deep understanding of what Jim was saying, and what that meant.

And that Jim had not expected. He looked into Dean's eyes and saw a man far older than his twenty six years. In that moment, a genuine respect was born. Jim offered him the truth. The whole truth.

"You see, Dean, when this happened to Blair, he was scared out of his mind that he'd hurt someone, the way he had been hurt. Even when he learned to manage his Changes, he was afraid that a day would come when he couldn't control the wolf inside him. He made me promise that if that day ever comes, I will end it."

"Will you?" Dean asked. "_Can_ you?"

"I will," Jim answered, and though it killed him to say it, it was the truth. "I will, because I promised him and because I won't risk what's happened to Blair happening to anyone else." Jim closed the gun case, locked it and replaced it under the Hummer's seat. "I think," he added, "that promise is Blair's insurance policy."

Dean looked sceptical. "You mean knowing you'll kill him is enough to keep him under control? Dude, you're kidding yourself."

Jim shook his head. "No. Blair knows what being forced to kill him will do to _me_. That's why he'll never cross that line, as a wolf or as a man." Finally, he had to ask, "Do you believe me now?"

Dean thought about that for a moment, then he nodded. "I believe you. But..."

"But...?"

"If the werewolf didn't do it...dude, what _did_ kill all those people?"

It was a fair question and Jim had no good answers. "That," he said, "is a good question. I've been trying to figure that out for a long time."

***

"I don't understand," Sam admitted. "What does that mean? Sentinel."

Blair explained about Jim's heightened senses, as succinctly as he could.

"So, Jim knew you were infected."

"Yeah. He had the hospital run tests but they didn't find anything. No surprise there. I don't think either of us really believed it at first," Blair said, pouring a second coffee for both himself and Sam. "But once it was said, it would have been crazy not to take some sort of precaution. Man, we didn't even know if all the creature feature stuff was true, but it was all we had. Jim took us to his father's house: it was a big place with a secure cellar. I don't know what he told his dad, but he convinced him to get out for a few days and leave us there. And when the full moon rose..."

"You changed," Sam said.

Blair nodded. "Even knowing it might happen, man, I can't tell you what it was like. God, I thought I was dying. Then I wished I was. When it was over, I thought about that happening every month and I..." He hesitated, then gave Sam the truth. "I think if it weren't for Jim, I would have committed suicide. I was in shock, I guess. I couldn't see the future at all. Then, two days after we got back to Cascade, Jim told me he'd quit his job. No discussion: he'd already done it. Then he asked me to marry him."

Sam smiled. "You said yes."

Blair laughed. "No, I told him he was out of his tree! I thought it was, you know, a pity thing, or meant to shake me out of the depression. But he convinced me he meant it. I couldn't see the future; but it was all Jim was thinking about. He'd figured out what to do. He sold his apartment and I had some money from a law suit against this publisher that we settled out of court. We had to find a place really fast because the next full moon was our deadline. This farm had been on the market for years and the house was derelict, but they agreed to let us live here while the sale was going through. We rebuilt it ourselves, with me chained up in the stable every full moon."

"Sounds horrible."

"It wasn't fun. We believed the stories about werewolves because we didn't know any better. We both thought that if I was allowed out when I Changed, I'd hurt someone, like I'd been hurt. And then...I guess you could say fate took a hand."

***

#### Stonehaven Lodge, July 1999

_The piercing tone of Jim's cellphone rang across the yard. Jim put down the bricks he was carrying and pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Ellison."_

_Blair looked up from his work: he was mixing cement with a shovel. Jim was stripped to his waist, his bronze skin covered by a sheen of sweat. Gorgeous, Blair thought._

_Jim caught Blair watching him and mouthed "It's Simon," before he turned away, walking off with the phone._

_Blair went back to work on the cement. When Jim came back, he was looking thoughtful._

_"Chief, I've just been offered a job."_

_Blair grinned. "Just two months and Simon can't cope without you?"_

_"Close. Another PD called him to ask for me. Simon told them I'd resigned so they've offered to hire me as a consultant. Short term job. One case."_

_"Why you?" Blair asked. Not that Jim wasn't a good cop, but there were plenty of good cops._

_Jim gave him a wry look. "Why do you think, genius?"_

_"My dissertation? Shit, man, I thought we'd cleared that up!"_

_"Well, there are a few people out there who knew you were lying in that press conference. Relax, Chief, this is a good thing. The job is on a Native American reservation. They want me_ because _they believed what you wrote. The money they're offering is good and...you know, this could be a good career move. If I can build a rep as a consultant I can work when it suits me. Or us."_

_Blair saw the point at once. "You mean you could work three weeks out of the month and be here for the fourth."_

_"Exactly. What do you think, love?"_

_Blair didn't need to think about it. "It sounds perfect. I never wanted you to give up police work, Jim. It's who you are."_

_Jim snorted. "You let me decide who I am." He kissed Blair. "I'll call Simon back and take the job."_

***

Blair smiled to himself, remembering. "It wasn't just a new career for Jim. That job saved me, too. The reservation was home to a couple of wolves."

"You mean werewolves? A couple as in _married_ couple?"

"That's right. Wolves mate for life, Sam. Jim, he knew what they were. He knew the scent, because of me. He talked to them, and they introduced him to a guy called Daniel   
Mountain Thunder. Daniel came back to Panther Creek with Jim, and he became my mentor."

"Mentor?"

Blair sighed. "There's so much you don't know, Sam. Most werewolves are turned consensually, and they have an experienced wolf to mentor them through the first Changes, to teach them how to deal with the transformation, and the rules of this life. Most of us live by those rules, which means not killing people, staying under the radar and so on. A wolf that breaks the rules is called a rogue. Like the one that attacked me. I'm a lone wolf, which means I'm not a member of a pack, but I'm not a rogue."

Sam's eyes had gone wide. "There are werewolf _packs_?"

"You didn't know that? There are four packs I know of in North America, and that's all I'm gonna tell you, man. You're a hunter. I can't tell you things that will endanger other wolves."

Sam nodded. "That's fair."

"Do you want to hear more of my story?"

"Dude, I wanna hear everything! But maybe it should wait. Blair, if you didn't kill those people...what did?"

"You've got to be the only person who'd ask _what_ not _who_. Sam, before we get to that, there are two questions I need to ask you. I've been honest with you, man. Can you do the same for me?"

Sam thought about that one for a long time. Blair waited, giving him the time. Finally, Sam rubbed both hands over his face and nodded. "I won't lie to you."

"I've met a werewolf hunter or two since this happened to me. You don't seem the type, man. How did you get into this life?"

Sam shook his head and for a moment Blair thought he'd refuse to answer. Then he looked up, meeting Blair's eyes and Blair knew he'd touched a raw nerve.

"Dean calls it the family business," Sam answered. I guess you could say I was born into it...though that's not exactly true."

"What's the truth?"

Sam hesitated. "When I was a baby, something killed my mother. My dad heard her scream and found her in my nursery, on the ceiling of the room, bleeding. Then there was some kind of a fireball. Dad got Dean and me out of the house, but when he went back for Mom it was too late. The fire was too intense for him to reach her."

"Sam, I'm sorry," Blair said, and he meant it, but excitement was building inside. Jim needed to hear this.

Sam lifted the coffee mug to his lips, but it didn't look like he drank any of it. "I think," he said, "most men would have convinced themselves they'd hallucinated. You know? Go to a shrink, spend a few years drowning in Prozac and then pretend it never happened. But not my dad. He believed his eyes. He's spent his whole life searching for the thing that killed her, and he raised Dean and me for the same fight."

"Sounds like a hell of a childhood."

"What childhood? Childhood is playing softball and going on camping trips with your dad. I learned how to melt silver into bullets and the weekend trips were spent digging up corpses to burn the bones. Fuck childhood. I would have been happy if he'd come to just one football game."

"Shit, Sam."

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong; I know Dad had good intentions and I know things could have been a lot worse. I got an object lesson in just how bad it might have been a couple of weeks back. But I hated it. Going to college was an escape, a chance for a normal life. Until..." Sam broke off and stayed quiet for a long moment. "Last November two things happened. Dean showed up - I hadn't seen him for two years and hadn't seen Dad for four. He told me Dad was missing. Wanted my help to find him. And a couple of days later...my girlfriend died. Exactly the same way as my mom. On the ceiling, in fire. So Dean and I are looking for Dad, because we know he's still searching for this thing. And we're gonna stop it." Sam stood abruptly and walked away from the kitchen table. "You said you had two questions."

"I did, but I think you just answered the second. Sam...I'm very sorry. I knew I'd be opening a can of worms but I didn't realise it would be so painful."

Sam turned back to him. "What was your second question, dude?"

"Jessica Moore."

"I didn't tell you her name."

"No, you didn't. Sam, her name - and yours - came up in connection with the case Jim's been working on. A serial murder case."

"Me?"

"You. Because you vanished so soon after the fire the cops considered you a suspect. And your...activities since aren't helping that impression."

For the first time, Sam looked scared. "Are you saying the cops think _I_ killed Jess? How do you know?"

"You need to talk to Jim. He's the one with all the details. The case he was working in Ohio was a similar fire. And there are others. It's an FBI investigation now."

"Others?" Sam just stared at Blair for a moment and Blair realised, too late, that he'd just dropped an emotional bomb on the other man. He'd spoken so matter-of-factly about the fires that Blair hadn't seen the grief he was hiding. Now he did. Now he saw a young man who had lost someone he truly loved. And here was Blair re-opening that wound, and others. Shit. But it was too late to take the words back.

The blood drained from Sam's face as he looked at Blair. "That's the trail Dad's following. It must be. Holy crap."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hadn't asked how Jim got hold of crime scene photographs when he wasn't a cop any longer. The photographs were spread out across Jim's desk in the study. Some were copies of copies, indistinct and grainy. Others were very clear. Jim watched Dean as he looked at the pictures. Dean studied each one briefly, his face carefully expressionless. He didn't ask dumb questions, and he wasn't shocked by what he saw.

Finally Dean laid down the last of the pictures. "You said there wouldn't be a death this full moon. How do you know that for sure?"

"As far as I've been able to tell, it's never killed two months in a row," Jim answered. "It's possible I've missed something, but I don't think so."

"And you've never seen this thing?"

Jim shook his head. "Only the results. Blair thinks he's seen it..." He broke off, looking toward the door as Sam opened it.

Sam looked flustered, his too-long hair tousled as if he'd just got out of bed. "Dude, I need to talk to you. Now." Sam glanced at Jim. "In private," he added.

Dean turned toward him at once. "Okay, but if this is about Blair, I already got the memo."

"No. It's about...something else."

Dean shrugged and headed toward the door.

Blair was waiting outside; he came into the room as Sam and Dean left. He smiled at Jim, a little nervously. "Everything okay, man?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I think so. For now." He held out a hand toward Blair. "You?"

Blair came toward him. "Sam's okay with it." He moved into Jim's arms and Jim held him close. He had some idea how tough this was for his partner. Blair hugged him back. "I...uh...I kinda made a deal with Sam. I hope you'll agree with it."

"What kind of deal?"

Blair drew back a little, looking up at Jim. "I think you'd best hear the full story from Sam and Dean. It has to do with those fires." He took a deep breath. "For now, the four of us are going to get together and make sure Jeanie is the last person to die an unnatural death in Panther Creek."

Since Jim had been thinking along the same lines, he had no problem with that. But he grinned at Blair. "Been working on that speech for long, Chief?" he teased.

Blair smiled back. "I know you don't like Dean much, man, and..."

Jim cut him off. "Chief, it's okay. I was just showing him the case file." He gestured to the photographs spread across his desk.

"Seriously?" Blair looked up at Jim, wide-eyed. "What the hell did you two talk about?"

That was a loaded question, Jim thought, but he answered, "Cars, mostly. And guns."

"Yeah?" There was just the faintest edge of suspicion in Blair's voice. He knew Jim too well.

"Yeah," Jim confirmed. He was silent for a moment, extending his senses to hear the brothers' conversation. "I was wrong about Dean," he admitted, and it was true. He'd underestimated the man badly. That streetwise front concealed a very dangerous man. But that, Jim didn't say aloud. "I think we have an understanding," he told Blair.

***

"Jim _told_ you Blair's a werewolf?" Sam sounded surprised.

"No, that part I figured out for myself." Dean followed Sam toward their room.

"And...?" Sam prompted.

"And what?"

Sam gave him a look.

"Dude, you know the rules as well as I do," Dean told him. "But..." he closed the double doors behind them as they walked into the guest wing, "...I told Jim I'll let it pass long enough to finish this hunt."

It was a big concession for Dean, but Sam rounded on him as if he'd said something terrible. "Are you telling me that you _believe_ he didn't kill anyone and you still think we should..."

Dean spread his hands wide. "What part of 'werewolf' are you missing? Give me one good reason to bail on this." Damn it, but you just don't leave the monsters behind you. Sam knew that.

Sam shook his head like he couldn't believe what Dean was saying. "How about because his partner is a cop and Washington is a death penalty state."

"Wouldn't stop Dad," Dean answered stubbornly, and he knew it was true.

Sam shoved Dean back against the door, hard. Anger sparked in his eyes but that was just the surface. Beneath the anger, Dean saw the real emotion Sam was trying so hard to mask: grief. Grief, as harsh and raw as it was back in Palo Alto. This wasn't about some guy they hardly knew, no matter how much Sam liked him. It couldn't be.

Sam's fists balled in Dean's shirt, pushing against his chest. He towered over Dean, forcing Dean to look up if he wanted to meet his brother's eyes. "I don't know what's in your head, Dean. As of now, I officially don't care. I'm not talking about _a_ hunt, okay? I'm talking about _the_ hunt. The thing that killed Jess. And Mom."

Dean had no idea what Sam was talking about. He wouldn't answer the anger in Sam's voice because the only way to do that was take a swing at him and that wouldn't solve anything. And he _couldn't_ answer the grief. There were no words for that. So he just looked up at Sam, knowing his confusion showed in his face.

Finally, Sam released him, turning away.

Dean drew in a shaky breath. "Sam...what does any of this have to do with the thing Dad's hunting?"

Sam sighed, running both hands through his hair. "It killed a woman three weeks ago, in Ohio. It's the case Jim was consulting on. Blair says there are others. Different states."

"How do you know it's the Demon?" Shit, no wonder Sam was upset.

Sam turned back to look at him. The anger was all gone. "A fire that burned impossibly hot, no identifiable cause. What little was left of the woman's body was on the ceiling of her kids' nursery. And Jim found sulphur." He shook his head. "Jim doesn't know what it is, dude, he still thinks he's looking for a human killer. But he's following the same trail as Dad."

Dean felt his stomach turn over. He swallowed, hard. Cleared his throat. "Okay...I'm sorry." He moved toward Sam. "What do you want to do?"

"I want you to swear to me you're not going to hunt Blair. I need to know what they know, Dean. I mean, that's what this is all about, isn't it?"

Their whole lives have been about this hunt. Dean nodded. "Alright. Alright, Sammy." He found himself crossing his fingers, like a kid telling a lie. "I swear," he said. _Just as long as Jim told me the truth. If he lied...I'm gonna end this, Sammy. I've got to._

***

It was late morning by the time they all came together for breakfast, so Blair suggested a good brunch that they could eat while they talked. He laid out a huge spread: home baked bread, cheese, several kinds of cold meat, a hastily thrown together salad, eggs, fruit, plus fresh coffee, juice or "whatever" and an offer of "help yourself to the 'fridge if you see something that's not on the table."

They each grabbed a plate and helped themselves. The ordinary activity provided an interlude, a chance for all of them to gather their thoughts. Jim thought they all needed it. Blair had never told anyone his secret before; Jim couldn't help wondering what it was about this Sam that he trusted...or was it simply that he needed to tell someone and Sam came along at the right time?

Jim himself was reeling from the little Blair told him about the brothers' connection to his murder case. He had wondered if there might be a paranormal element to the case; Jim always stuck to the usual cop methods that didn't include looking for a _what_ instead of a _who_, but he'd learned to keep an open mind. He examined the scene of a fire that had burned so intensely there was nothing but charcoal left of the victim's limbs, yet the fire department found no trace of the kinds of accelerant that would be needed to create that level of heat. Pyrokinesis seemed, at the very least, a possibility to consider.

But a demonic serial killer was stretching Jim's open-mindedness just a little bit far. Sam mentioned a journal that could tell him more, but Jim, figuring he needed time to process this one, suggested that could wait. They should focus on what was happening in Panther Creek first.

Dean sat down at the table with a plate piled high with food. "One part of your story doesn't add up," he announced, looking at Blair.

Blair shrugged. "Probably more than one part, man. I know I can't prove most of what I told Sam."

"I talked to a local woman who witnessed one of the attacks last summer. What she described sounded a hell of a lot like a werewolf to me. If you weren't there, and there's no other werewolf in the neighbourhood..."

"How did she see me?" Blair finished for him. "I don't know. Maybe she _did_ see me. But I didn't attack anyone."

Jim took a seat beside Blair. "Dean, one of the most important rules in police work is witnesses get it wrong. Even the most cooperative eye-witness, unless it's a person trained to observe, will report a mixture of what they really saw, what they couldn't possibly have seen, and what they think happened. It becomes a genuine memory and the witness believes every word they're telling you, but only about thirty per cent of it is accurate."

"So you're saying what? This girl just coincidentally hit on a perfect description of a werewolf?"

"It's possible she saw Blair in wolf form at some other time and her mind just meshed that image into her memory of seeing a man killed."

"Could be," Dean agreed, though his tone said he didn't accept it. "Let's talk about the latest victim. What exactly happened that night? And..." he gave a sarcastic smile, "I'll remember it's only thirty per cent accurate."

"I've been a ranger and a cop and I am a sentinel. I'm a bit more reliable than the average witness, Dean." Jim met Blair's eyes across the table, then went on. "It was a full moon night, so Blair was in wolf form, out in the hills. I was alone here, watching television. I don't sleep when Blair's out there. Around midnight I heard Jeanie come past our gate."

"You _heard_?" Dean interjected.

Blair had explained Jim's abilities to both of them, but Jim wasn't surprised Dean had trouble accepting it. He smiled. "Yes, I heard." He didn't offer proof. "She used to sing as she walked."

"Sarah McLaughlan, right?" Sam said suddenly.

Jim looked at Blair. "You told him?"

Blair shook his head. "No, man. You never told me what Jean sang that night."

"Then how...?"

Sam looked uncomfortable. "I...I dreamed about it." He shrugged. "Sometimes I dream true things. It's no big deal."

For a moment there was silence around the table. Finally, Blair shrugged and picked up the story. "I have to take Jim's word about the time Jean passed the farm. It would mean she was killed some time between midnight and quarter-past. I was miles away, in wolf form. It happened so close to our place that Jim should have heard something. He didn't, so we think she didn't have time to struggle or scream. Just before dawn I was on my way home and I smelled the blood. That's when I found Jean."

Blair pushed his plate to one side. "You two need to understand, in wolf form it's not easy to think or react like a man. The wolf in me only saw her as carrion. I didn't...touch her, but I did get too close, sniffed around her body. Then I ran home to Change and when I did I told Jim what happened. He thought it would be better if he 'found' the body. So that's how it happened."

Jim explained: "I run every morning when I'm at home and our neighbours know that. So I put on my jogging gear and headed up the track. It allowed me to examine the scene ahead of the local cops."

"And?"

"She was lying face down in the snow. Something had slashed her neck, left-to-right, severing the carotid artery. The blood spatter pattern in the snow indicated she fell after receiving that fatal wound. There's one other thing, though. She had three deep parallel slashes across her back. Whatever did it went right through her clothing to the skin. It was a pre-mortem wound."

Dean was frowning. "Can you, uh, demonstrate those slashes? Show me exactly what you saw?"

Jim stood up. "Sure. Blair?"

Blair stood up and turned his back to Jim. Jim formed his hand into a claw-shape and drew a line diagonally across Blair's back from shoulder-blade to his spine just above the waist. He said, "The cuts had to have been made in one blow - they were absolutely uniform. It was a slashing motion - deepest at the top, shallower here at the end of the arc."

"Nightmare on Elm Street," Sam said.

Jim smiled at him. "That's exactly what I thought when I saw Jean's body. But I'm assuming that's just a movie."

"Well..." Dean began.

Jim nearly choked on his coffee.

Sam shot Dean an annoyed look. "You dick!" To Jim he explained, "A lot of horror films use elements of urban legends with their roots in things that are real. The idea that something terrible in a person's dreams can cause death is an old legend. But as far as I know, Freddy is pure fiction."

Blair took a deep breath. "Thank god for that, at least!"

"Neither of you saw what killed Jean Marsden?" Dean pressed.

"Not that night," Jim answered, "but..." He looked at Blair.

Blair nodded. "I told you we've been hunting this thing for six years. I've gotten close a couple of times. It's humanoid. I mean, it stands upright and has two legs, two arms and a head. But it's not human. In wolf form my sense of smell is as good as Jim's, maybe even better. It doesn't smell human."

"What does it smell like?" Sam asked him.

"I don't know!" Blair burst out, and Jim felt his frustration. They'd had this conversation before. "I can't describe it. Not human. Not animal."

The brothers looked at each other.

Sam spoke first. "It can't be a wendigo. They don't leave bodies behind. Could be a reaver?"

Dean seemed to think about that. Jim was about to ask what in god's name a reaver was when Dean shook his head decisively. "No. Reavers are technically human. Blair would have noticed. And reavers ain't subtle. They don't kill, they slaughter. You'd be looking at murder scenes with body parts spread all over, and probably a much higher kill count." He looked at Jim, silently asking for confirmation.

Jim answered the unspoken question. "No, nothing like that. This thing just kills."

Sam leaned forward over the table. "The local press and the cops have all of these deaths listed as animal attacks. Have any of the victims been eaten?"

"Jean wasn't. I have limited access to local police records so I can't say for certain. All of the murder scenes have the superficial appearance of animal attacks. Victims mostly died from blood loss, wounds to the neck and abdomen. One was bled out from the femoral artery - a single puncture wound. There were signs of predation on a few of the victims, but as far as I remember they were all bodies that had lain out in the open for a few days. Predation would be expected."

Sam bit his lip, looking over to his brother. "Anything animal, feral, kills to eat."

Dean nodded. "Maybe this can't. It's a spirit of some sort. There have been cases of ghosts that took animal form to kill." He looked at Sam. "Remember?"

Sam nodded. "The thing in the Rockies, yeah." He turned to Jim and Blair and started to explain. "It was the spirit of..."

Jim interrupted. "No, this isn't a ghost. It's real. Physical."

Sam met his eyes. "I'm not certain you should trust your senses about this. A lot of the things Dean and I have dealt with sure seem physical."

Jim nodded. "You two are the experts, I can see that. But you don't have my senses. I've seen ghosts, Sam. Trust me, I know the difference."

Dean said, "A spirit isn't always a ghost, but there would be the same signs." He listed them: a spirit might move oddly or appear and disappear like a mirage. There would be a smell of ozone. There might be a local legend that could be linked to the deaths in some way, or perhaps a triggering event that woke something much older.

Jim glanced at Blair. None of it rang a bell, except maybe the last part. Would Blair make the same connection?

Blair met his eyes and nodded. "This might be nothing, but just after we came to this area there was a cave in at an old mine a few miles away. Some kids were trapped and the rescue team took a few days to dig them out. No one died."

"What kind of mine?" Dean asked.

"Does it matter?" Blair muttered.

"Probably not. But it might."

Jim answered, "Iron. It was an iron mine. It's been sealed up tight since the cave in."

"And these deaths," Sam said thoughtfully. "You said the pattern changed after you both came into the area. Was the first death _after_ this cave-in?"

"What's running up your flagpole, college boy?"

Sam turned to Dean, narrowing his eyes a little at the _college boy_ comment. He knew Dean meant it affectionately, but the teasing got annoying at times. "It's corporeal, but neither human nor animal. What does that tell you, dude?"

Dean's eyes widened as he got the point. "Faery."

"Fairy?" Jim repeated. "Cute girls with butterfly wings?"

Sam shook his head. "Not exactly. Faery is a generic term for creatures that exist in most world cultures. In the British Isles they're the sidhe, in Eastern Europe they're often called witches, in the Mediterranean they're nymphs and dryads. On this continent they were called spirits by the indigenous people."

"You mean nature spirits," Blair guessed.

"Often. But they're not spirits. They're corporeal creatures. Sometimes they're shape shifters. Many can impersonate humans. It's called glamour."

"But Native American spirits are benevolent," Blair objected. "They don't prey on people."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. This'll be an import. These things move around, just like people." He looked at Sam. "There aren't a lot of faeries in Dad's journal, though."

"No, we'll need to do some research. See if we can figure out what kind of faery we're dealing with. And how to stop it."

Dean grinned. "So...can I leave the research to you two college boys?"

Sam frowned. Dean wasn't a fan of research, but he usually didn't try to avoid it. Then he saw the look in his brother's eyes and the penny dropped. "Oh, man. You want to go chase that girl."

Dean's grin got wider.

Sam sighed theatrically. "Fine. Go get your hormones cooled off."

Jim laughed suddenly. "Remind you of anyone, Chief?"

Blair smiled at him affectionately. "A little." To Dean he said, "I'll be happy to help Sam with the research. Just one thing, though."

"Yeah?"

"If you're going into town, don't pack a gun. Our local sheriff takes that kinda seriously."

Dean nodded, already heading for the door. "Sure thing, dude."

***

In Blair's study, Sam unpacked the laptop. While he waited for it to boot up he took out his father's journal, hesitating before handing it to Blair. "Like Dean said, there's not much in here about faeries. But I know you'll find it interesting."

Blair took the journal, handling it as if it were some precious artefact. "If we can identify this faery, will we have a way to kill it?"

"Fae are hard to kill. Salt can disrupt their magic or glamour, but it doesn't harm them. Iron, especially cold iron, can hurt them, kills some, binds others. So I'm sure we'll find a way to stop it." Sam was repeating himself, and stopped. He'd already told them this.

Sam thought the faery had been bound in that old iron mine and had been freed somehow after the cave-in. Jim had gone to check out that theory. If Sam was right, they should be able to re-bind it.

Sam turned to the laptop. "You pull up your records of the victims. Look for something they've got in common. Anything. Any kind of a pattern."

"There's nothing..." Blair objected, but he did sit down at his computer. "There are some common threads, but nothing that applies to all of them. Most of the victims are men, but not all of them. Most of the deaths are in fall and winter, but not all of them. Sam, I've been over this data a thousand times. There's nothing that applies to all of the victims."

"There'll be something. Maybe not the sort of stuff cops look for. You'll have to dig deeper. But this thing is choosing its victims somehow. I'm gonna surf some websites, see if I can narrow down the type of faery we're dealing with. If we're lucky, we'll sort of meet in the middle."

Blair laughed. "If we're lucky?"

Sam couldn't help laughing with him. "It usually works out."

Blair turned to his computer and started work. Sam did the same.

"Tell me something," Blair said over his shoulder.

"What's that?"

"Who's this girl Dean is so keen on?"

Sam chuckled. "Her name's Erin. We ran into her the other day when we took a walk by the forest."

"What was that name?"

"Erin. You must know her. Uh...about my age, pretty, redhead. She said she lives on the hill above the waterfall."

Blair shrugged. "Doesn't sound familiar. Maybe she's not local."

***

The old iron mine had been sealed up for fifty years or more, ever since the last owners went bust. In the summer of 1999, the summer Jim and Blair moved to Panther Creek, a group of kids from town broke into the mine. There were seven kids, ages ranging from eight years old to thirteen. For most of June and July they played in the mine, turning it into a kind of secret hideout. No one else knew about it until the day the main tunnel in the mine collapsed, trapping four of the children inside.

In a small town like Panther Creek, a disaster involving children was bound to provoke a big response. Every able bodied man in town, including Jim and Blair, volunteered to help with the rescue efforts. It took almost a week to dig the children out but in the end all four were found: weak and scared, but alive, with only minor injuries. The local newspaper called it a miracle. The mayor made sure the mine was permanently re-sealed.

Jim tied his horse's bridle to the prominent warning sign. It read DANGER! DO NOT ENTER in big red letters. Jim stroked the mare's neck, told her he'd be back in a while, and walked on toward the mine entrance. The heavy steel door was still sealed up tight. Jim took a set of tools from the inner pocket of his thick winter coat and went to work on the lock. After a few minutes, he felt the tumblers drop into place and the lock clicked open. The door was heavy and the hinges badly rusted but Jim was strong enough to open it. Inside the air smelled stale and musty.

Jim was not inexperienced at caving and he knew going into the mine alone was foolish at best. But Blair knew where he was, and he wasn't going in unprepared. Jim had a length of coiled rope, a flashlight, and a small backpack with some other supplies he thought he might need. It was the best he could manage on short notice.

The air smelled of iron and damp. Jim turned on the flashlight and waited a few moments while his eyes adjusted. With the flashlight and his sentinel vision, the mine wasn't dark to him at all. It was like a well-lit room. Jim made his way into the tunnel. The first part of it was familiar from the rescue six years earlier and he could still see the evidence of the operation: soda cans discarded by the diggers, footprints, tool marks on the rock. They'd shored up the tunnel here; Jim laid a hand against one of the new supports, testing it. It was solid. He walked onward with more confidence.

When he reached the place where the tunnel collapsed Jim had to strip off his thick winter coat or he would never fit through the gap. He kept his phone in his pocket just in case (though it was a thin hope; if the tunnel collapsed there wasn't much chance of getting a cell signal down here) and shoved the backpack through ahead of him. The rough stone cut into his hands as he crawled through the small gap. Had this become worse since the rescue, or had Jim put on weight? He didn't remember it being this difficult before.

It took a long time for Jim to crawl through. Every time he heard or felt the stone shift he froze, knowing that the mine was still unstable and he would need as much warning as possible. It took perhaps an hour for him to get through the collapsed section. On the other side, he stood up, relieved just to be able to stand, and took a deep breath, collecting himself.

The air was pretty thin. He couldn't risk staying for too long.

Only a little further in, Jim found the place those kids used as their secret clubhouse. There was a cache of toy guns and water pistols. He found the remains of comic books and magazines, cigarette packets and candy. He couldn't help smiling to himself. They must have had so much fun here that summer...before it all went bad.

He passed through the kids' den and headed further into the mine. The tunnel forked a little way past the den. Jim pondered for a moment then chose the tunnel that seemed to slope most sharply downward. He pulled an aerosol paint can out of his backpack and marked the route he was taking...just in case.

And it was there, about five hundred metres into the tunnel, that Jim found it. He was beginning to get a headache by then and that was a sign of oxygen deprivation so he didn't dare stay too long. But Sam was going to need to see this...the walls of the tunnel were covered with what looked like very old paint. Some of it was symbols, a kind of writing Jim didn't recognise, and there were pictures, too: animals and plants. It reminded him vaguely of Neolithic cave paintings...and that thought made him think of Blair, because it was the kind of comparison he would make. There was a circle of white on the floor of the tunnel and within it stood a large iron cage. The cage stood open, but there was no sign of how it was unlocked, if it had been.

Jim pulled out his phone and used its built-in camera to photograph as much as possible. He wasn't certain any of it would be useful with only the flashlight for light, but it was the best he could do. He turned to go.

Just behind him, on the floor of the tunnel, almost invisible even to Jim's sight, was a small screwed-up candy wrapper.

Jim picked it up. _I'll be damned. The kids let it out._

_***_

_The Coffee Bean_ aka Beanies was a real wannabe Starbucks, right down to the pair of overstuffed couches near the window. Only the coffee menu, which was much less varied than a city coffee-shop, detracted from the impression. Dean ordered a black coffee and chose a table from which he could watch the street. He had a local newspaper to flip through while he drank, but he didn't pay much attention to the content.

He stretched the first coffee as long as he could, then paid for a second. The music was getting annoying, but he'd wait another half hour. He was hoping Erin would pass by. So far, no luck.

It was weird. Dean never went to this much trouble for a girl: hanging out like a lovesick teenager in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. But if he wanted to see Erin again - and he did - there wasn't much else he could do. Erin had no cell phone and she hadn't given him her address. She was also the best thing he'd seen in this backwater town; she was worth the wait...if he didn't have to wait too much longer.

"Just a milk, please." Erin's voice from the counter made Dean turn so fast he almost gave himself a whiplash. He hadn't seen her come in!

Dean folded the newspaper and abandoned it on the table. "Hi, there," he said as he reached her side.

"To go," Erin said to the barista as he reached for a glass. She turned her brilliant smile to Dean.

Dean wasn't sure whether he should be encouraged or disappointed. "You're not staying?"

"I need to get back home. Walk with me?"

"Sure," Dean agreed eagerly. The barista handed Erin her milk and Dean paid for it, wondering who the hell drinks milk in a coffee shop. She smiled her thanks and they headed out. Her little terrier was tied up outside.

Erin knelt down, pouring a little milk into her hand to share with the dog. "Your brother not with you today?"

"I'm all yours, sweetheart," Dean grinned. He thought of Sam and the hunt they were going to have to do later. "For a couple of hours, anyway," he amended.

Erin let her dog run free ahead of them, sipping her milk as Dean took her free hand in his. He was happy just being with her. He took out his cell phone; Sam hadn't called yet. So Dean was free to have fun for a while.

"Are you waiting for a call?" Erin asked.

"No, just checking."

They were near the end of the street. Erin finished her cup of milk and crushed the paper cup in her hand. "Would you like to come back to my place?" she offered.

"Oh, yeah!"

Erin stopped walking and looked at Dean. For a moment he thought he'd been too enthusiastic. But then she stepped close to him, still holding his hand. She smiled, that dazzling smile that hooked him the first time they met. "I like that you're...eager," she said quietly.

Erin was taller than Dean and he had to look up to meet her eyes. That wasn't usually a turn on for him, but _everything_ about this girl was turning him on. Which was a little strange, come to think of it...

She kissed his cheek. "You're the best thing to show up in this town all winter." She kissed his mouth, just a light touch of her lips. Not enough. Dean raised his hands to her face and kissed her deeply. Her skin was cool to the touch but her kiss was warm, responsive. Her tongue met his and she moaned into his mouth.

"Let's hurry," Erin whispered.

***

Sam punched buttons on his phone and waited tensely for Dean to answer. He met Blair's worried eyes across the room. "Come on, come on," Sam muttered, as if Dean could hear him.

Dean answered on the sixth ring. He sounded pissed. "Sammy, your timing sucks!"

_Thank god!_ Sam thought with relief, then Dean's irritation got through to him. "Oh, god, Dean. Tell me you're not with Erin right now."

"What do you think?"

_Shit._ "I need to talk to you, dude. Get out of earshot."

There was a pause. Sam heard a rustling sound through the phone and then Dean's voice. "Okay. Make it fast."

He did, speaking rapidly because he wanted Dean to believe him, fast. "It's a Leannan Sidhe, Dean. A kind of faery vampire or succubus. She feeds primarily on sexual energy, life energy, capturing one man at a time, but when she can't find a man to enslave she'll feed on blood. Human life. That's why most of the deaths are in winter."

"Great, dude, that's great, but I'm a little busy right now..."

"Dean, will you listen? This thing is a sidhe. It can cover itself in glamour and look completely human. Dude, I mentioned Erin to Blair and he's never seen her. Neither has Jim. They don't know who she is."

Silence.

"Dean?"

"Oh, man..." Dean sounded terribly pained. "Don't tell me..."

It sounded like Dean understood. Sam asked seriously, "Dude, are you armed?"

"No."

"Do you have anything on you that's iron?"

Dean hesitated, then said firmly, "It's not her, Sammy. It can't be."

She already had him. Sam remembered what he'd read and felt cold with fear. _She seeks the love of mortal man...once embraced by the Leannan Sidhe, her lover is forever in her thrall...the only escape is to find another man to take his place...she is a passionate lover but the man pays dearly for his pleasure...drains the life from her lover over nights or weeks..._

No. Not Dean. If he'd fucked her already, it was too late.

"Think about it, Dean. What happened the night after we first ran into her, dude..." Sam broke off abruptly, conscious of Blair listening to his every word. What happened between them started because Dean misinterpreted Sam's touch. If Sam was right about Erin, it was her influence at work that night. She'd chosen Dean, primed him to react that way. She just hadn't counted on their uniquely fucked up family history, so it was Sam who Dean so suddenly lusted after.

If Sam was right about Erin. And he was, he was sure. He tried again, "Dean, she said it herself. In a small town like this, everyone knows everyone. She told us she lives around here. Why don't Jim and Blair know her?"

"But...Oh, hell, Sam!"

"Dean, you have to get out of there, now!"

And Sam's blood froze in his veins as Erin's voice came instead of his brother's. "He'll call you back, Sammy."

The line went dead.

***

Erin was curled around Dean's back, her chin resting on his shoulder. She reached up for the cell phone. Her closeness was enough of a distraction that she took the phone from him easily.

"He'll call you back, Sammy."

Then, before Dean could act, she turned the phone off and tossed it away.

Dean turned, a protest rising to his lips, but the words died as he met her green eyes. Only then did he truly believe Sam, because he might go a bit crazy over a girl from time to time but not like this. He swallowed past the sudden constriction in his throat.

"I know what you are," he said. His voice sounded hoarse.

Erin smiled, laughter in her eyes. "Do you care?"

She was so close to him, he could feel the heat of her body. She leaned even closer, her lips almost touching his skin. Dean could feel her breath gusting across his skin when she spoke. "You want me..."

Dean backed off, but he was trapped against the wall.

If Erin offered him violence Dean could react. She might look like a fragile girl but he knew she wasn't. But she wasn't offering violence. She was offering sex. He _wanted_ sex. Dean was trapped, as much by his own nature as by hers. Part of him wanted to fight her but the other, the strongest part of him was still caught in her charisma. He knew he should shove her away and run like hell. But he couldn't.

He could stop himself from reaching for her.

He could resist enough to remain motionless, to not move into the kiss she so clearly wanted. But he couldn't move away.

Sam...Sam said...

"Get rid of the glamour, Erin. Let me see the truth."

"I will...if you kiss me." Her mouth was so near she could easily have stolen a kiss, but she didn't.

Dean had an instant to decide. He knew that faery glamour could compel him to act; he had no iron, none of the things that might break through it for him. He needed to see the reality. Maybe if he could see her true nature, he could resist her spell.

And would it be so bad, really, to kiss her?

He had already kissed her and nothing bad happened.

Dean moved, just that small space, and his lips meet hers. She should have tasted like the milk she'd just finished drinking, but what came into his mind was honey, thick, rich and sweet. He drank down that taste, holding her close to him. Her body felt warm against his and he reached for the zipper of her coat, drawing it down slowly while they kissed. He pushed the coat aside, brushing a hand over her breast. Her breasts were small and firm, her nipple hard beneath his fingers. Perfect...

He pulled away with an effort. This was wrong. He shouldn't be...but it was hard to remember why. Sam. Sam was why. Sam called...

"Lose the glamour, Erin. Let me see what you really are." Dean heard the thread of desperation in his voice, as if he was begging. He hoped she hadn't heard it.

She slipped her hand beneath his t-shirt, touching bare skin. She was smiling. And then she did as he asked.

The glamour didn't vanish all at once. It leaked away slowly, like water. The first thing Dean noticed was her eyes. Erin's eyes were lovely, a startling green, but they were human eyes. As he watched the green intensified until her eyes were glowing, the irises aflame with green flecked with red. Certainly not human.

Dean blinked, hardly able to believe what he saw was real. He lifted a hand to her face, brushing a lock of hair back from her cheek and as he did the hair changed, darkening from her bright auburn to a dark, rich brunette. The colour, at least, was human. Her skin was pale, almost white and velvet soft to his touch, like a baby's skin. Her features seemed to sharpen, her cheekbones becoming higher, her chin more pointed, but he could still recognise Erin as herself. Her perfect, cupid's bow mouth was as kissable as before.

She wasn't human, but he couldn't help seeing her as beautiful. Dean ran her silky hair through his fingers and she began to push his shirt off his shoulders. He tried to remember why he shouldn't be doing this but all he could think about was her hands, and then, as he drew her down to the ivy-covered ground, her lovely mouth on him and how much he wanted her.

***

"She's got Dean," Sam announced.

Jim nodded; he'd heard both sides of the conversation and reached the same conclusion.

Sam ran for the door, the phone still in his hand.

Blair blocked his way. "Whoa! Where are you going, man?"

"To get Dean," Sam said, as if it should be obvious...and it was, but Jim knew that wasn't Blair's worry.

"Where is he?" Jim asked. "Did he say?"

Sam's determined look faded a little. "No, he didn't. Erin told us she lives on the hill above the waterfall."

"She probably lied, Sam," Blair pointed out.

Sam pocketed his phone and moved as if to push Blair out of his way. "He's my brother!"

"I know," Blair answered.

Jim stepped forward. "What's your plan, Sam?"

Sam met Jim's eyes and Jim watched the raw panic in his eyes drain away, replaced by something steadier. Good. That was what they needed. The kid was probably used to working with only Dean to back him up. Well, this time, he wasn't alone.

"We've got your back, Sam," Jim said to underline it. "What's the plan?"

Sam took a breath. "I've got iron rounds in the car. And rock salt for the shotgun. There's no way to kill her but iron and salt should slow her down."

Good plan. Jim nodded. "But you don't know where they are." He checked his watch and looked at Blair. Blair was their best chance, but... "It's not full dark yet," Jim said. It was as close as he would get to asking Blair to do this.

"It's full moon tonight," Blair answered at once. "I don't need the dark."

"I meant, someone might see you, Chief."

"I'll be careful." Blair looked at Sam and moved to the side, clearing Sam's way to the door. "Dean went to Beanies, didn't he?"

"Yes, but..."

Jim nodded to Blair. "It's alright, Sam. Blair can track Dean's scent and I...I mean, _we_ can follow Blair. Can you ride a horse? It'll be faster."

Sam seemed much calmer now. "It's been a few years, but yeah. I can ride."

"Go get your salt and iron and meet me in the stable."

Sam nodded, his expression showing his gratitude. He hurried through the door.

Jim went to Blair, then. It was a good plan, but it had some real dangers. Things he couldn't mention in front of Sam. "Chief, if you get there first...as a wolf..."

Blair moved into his arms and Jim held him. Blair said quietly, "I can't promise, man. When I'm a wolf, I just can't think like a person. The promise wouldn't mean anything." He looked worried. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"From what you and Sam have said, Chief, if you don't, Dean could be worse than dead. Do your best, love. That's all." He kissed Blair, but made it brief. "We've got to hurry."

Blair nodded. "Jim," he said, "just in case..."

Blair's serious look made Jim's heart stop, just for a moment. Blair was telling him to pack silver bullets. Just in case. Jim nodded. "I know. I will." He hated that his agreement made Blair relax.

"I love you," Blair said.

"Love you, too," Jim answered. It hurt to say it. He'd just promised to kill Blair if he couldn't stay in control of the wolf.

***

In the garage, Sam propped the Impala's trunk open and rummaged through the contents quickly. He loaded both shotguns with rock salt and stuffed more into his pockets. It took him a while to find the iron bullets: Dean's trunk wasn't exactly organised. In the end, he found them, but only enough for half a clip. It would have to do. He slammed the trunk closed and hurried out to the stable.

He found Jim saddling a second horse. Jim told him to close the stable door.

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"Because Blair's about to Change and I don't want to lose the horses. Or you."

Sam closed the lower half of the stable door, but he wondered about the way Jim phrased that. "Are you ever afraid he'll attack _you_?"

Jim flashed a quick smile Sam's way. "No. He knows me, even when he's a wolf. If things go well tonight, you'll see. Here." He held out the bridle to Sam.

Sam gave him a shotgun in exchange for the reins. "I don't know if salt will hurt her but it does disrupt faery magic, so it might weaken her. I only found enough iron rounds for one gun."

Jim nodded. "You keep that one. I'll manage." Jim checked the load on the shotgun. Then he tensed visibly, looking toward the stable door.

A scream cut through the air, a human scream. Jim remained utterly still, one fist clenched, his shoulders tense. The scream shocked Sam and he moved automatically toward the door, his hand moving toward his knife. He had to help!

When Jim spoke, his voice was even more tense than his body. "Sam, don't. It's Blair."

As he spoke Sam heard the screaming change until it became the blood-freezing howl of a wolf. God, it was horrible. Of course it made sense that the Change would hurt but to hear this... Sam looked at Jim again and in that moment he began to understand what he and Dean had blundered into.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly.

Jim looked at him for a long moment. "Let's go save your brother." He waited for Sam to re-open the stable door and mounted his horse.

***

Dean lay on his back in a bed of moss and ivy. He was nude and should have been cold but he felt warm. Erin straddled his waist, her thighs warm against his belly and sides. Dean reached up, caressing her breasts. She leaned down to kiss him, her glowing green eyes filling his vision.

He slid his hands down to her waist. She was a vision. A dream. He was dreaming. Her tongue parted his lips, warm and demanding. Dean rolled them over so Erin lay on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist. He kissed her deeply, his eyes closed, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, moving her hips against him, begging him to fuck her. He wanted to fuck her. He kissed her neck, sucking on her milk-white skin.

"Erin," he groaned against her neck.

"Tell me..." she whispered.

He raised up above her. "Tell you?"

"Tell me your fantasy. I can make it true for you."

Dean hesitated. _Sam_. Sam was his fantasy. Sam, naked and needing beneath him. Sam's dick in his mouth. The way Sam always obeyed orders in bed; he would do anything Dean asked, because they loved each other even if they never said it. Sam.

Sam who told him... Sam said...

"Sam," Dean said aloud.

Erin hissed in anger.

What the hell was he doing? Dean looked down at the inhuman creature in his arms and disgust rose up like bile in his throat. For just an instant her spell was broken and Dean recoiled from what she was, his cock wilting in terror. Sidhe. God, he'd almost fucked her. If he'd done that, he would be dead. Or worse. Hers. A slave, a meal.

Then she reached up, pulling him down into a kiss. Dean struggled against her, but she was strong, too strong for him. The moment her lips touched his, he was lost again. Her warm hand wrapped around his dick and he cried out, instantly hard.

"I want this," she whispered and her voice was low and rough with desire. Desire for him. Dean felt a surge of triumph that something as lovely as she wanted him. _Needed_ him.

He kissed her again. Sharp pain made him jerk back and he tasted blood. He watched her lick his blood from her lips as if it were honey. He slid his hand between her legs and slowly pushed a finger inside her. So wet... So warm...

She rolled him onto his back, her hands on his shoulders, holding him down. He looked up into her face as she rose above him, her body moving to enclose him. He remembered...there was something...important.

Dean grasped her waist with both hands, gripping hard, forcing her to stop though it took all the control he had left.

"You'll kill me," he whispered, and a corner of his mind was yelling at him _so what?_ What a way to die!

Erin smiled and shook her head. "No. No, Dean, not tonight."

Not tonight. But another night.

"No. Please, Erin. No." His words said no, but his body was saying yes-please-now, his hips thrusting upward, his cock blindly seeking her embrace. She moved down his body and gasped with pleasure.

And then she screamed.

***

Blair ran from the stable, his paws scratching on the cool stone. He felt the pull of the moon, calling him to hunt and kill. He smelled the horses nearby. His mate was with them. Jim.

Jim's scent focussed him. He would hunt, hunt as Jim wanted him to hunt. Blair barked a challenge into the night and ran on, toward the town.

In wolf form, Blair was fast. He skirted the town, pausing every now and then to sniff the air, seeking the familiar scent of Dean. Melting snow churned up beneath his paws as he ran. He was out in the open where he could be seen, but it didn't trouble him.

Finally, Blair caught the scent he sought. Dean. But Dean's scent was mingled with another. A scent Blair knew of old; a scent the wolf in him associated with death and blood. The indefinable but utterly unique scent of his enemy.

For a moment, Blair hesitated, confused. Jim wanted him to hunt Dean...but a wolf hunts only to kill and he knew that wasn't the plan. Now there was this other scent. It wasn't food, but it was something to kill. Something he wanted to kill. A growl built in his throat, rumbling from his mouth in a snarl. He put his nose to the ground and followed the new scent.

Blair had forgotten that Jim was going to follow him. It was the wolf's way: it was utterly single-mined. Focussed on the hunt, Blair thought only of the scent he was following. It took him up the narrow pathway above the creek. The scent became stronger the higher he ran. He was close.

The trail let him over a wall, past a garden overgrown with weeds and brambles but oddly free of snow. It led him through a broken wooden door. The scent was very strong here. It was the lair of his prey. The part of his mind that was still human wondered why he never scented it here before, he passed this way in wolf form, often. He had no answer, but the wolf didn't care. It was here, now.

Blair found his prey in a roofless room filled with green: evergreen ivy, grass and moss. The scent he followed led him to a pair of creatures. One was human, male. The other was a pale, glowing thing above the human's recumbent body. Blair growled, low in his throat. This was his prey. It didn't know he was watching. It was vulnerable.

Blair attacked.

His powerful jaws clamped around its throat, the force of his charge carrying it to the floor, away from the human. Its scream of pain filled the air. Blair bit down on flesh, its blood filling his mouth. The screaming stopped, but Blair did not. He felt flesh tear under his teeth and snarled with satisfaction. The body beneath him stopped struggling. Stopped breathing.

But a wolf kills to eat. Blair's mouth was full of the meat of its throat. He threw his head up, swallowing the meat. He let out a bark of triumph. He moved down the body to tear open its belly and feed.

Something struck his flank and Blair whirled, growling. He saw the human, naked and vulnerable, a second stone in his hand. Blair smelled fear and knew the human was weak. It threw the second stone, striking Blair's neck. Blair growled, abandoning his kill, advancing on the human. He tensed, preparing to attack. The human spoke, but Blair was beyond comprehending human speech.

"Blair, no!"

The voice of his mate made Blair hesitate. The human fell to the ground. It was weak. Easy prey, more palatable prey than the thing he had already killed. Blair prepared once again to leap.

"No, Blair!" Jim ran toward him, blocking Blair's way to the human even as Blair leapt. "He's not for you!"

Blair leapt, his outstretched paws striking Jim's shoulders. He licked Jim's face.

Jim laughed. "That's my boy!"

Blair licked him again, yipping excitedly.

"Alright, down, boy!" Jim's hands were in the thick fur of Blair's ruff, pushing him down. Reluctantly, Blair obeyed. Jim turned around, one hand still in Blair's fur. He spoke to the other human, then pulled on Blair's neck, signalling him to turn. Jim pointed to the pale and bleeding body of the one Blair killed. "_That's_ your kill," he insisted. "You don't need more."

Blair whined, unhappy with the order, but he obeyed his mate.

***

Sam had no idea how Jim could follow the wolf's trail in the dark. Blair had explained that Jim's senses were exceptionally acute, but even knowing that, what Jim was doing seemed like magic. He followed signs that Sam could see no trace of. All Sam could do was follow Jim and trust him to lead them the right way.

Sam hadn't lied when he said it was a few years since he'd been on a horse. Though John Winchester considered a lot of odd things "essential skills", horse riding wasn't high on the list. Sam wasn't a skilled horseman, but he managed well enough.

Jim set a fast pace. They skirted the town and took the bridle path high above the creek. They were headed, Sam thought, to the hill above the waterfall. It surprised him a little: did Erin actually tell the truth about where she lived?

The path Jim followed led into the trees, and Sam had to duck to avoid the branches. Then he saw the derelict cottage ahead. Most of the roof was gone and the remaining walls were overgrown with ivy. Here, they stopped.

Jim dismounted, hooking his horse's reins over what was left of the gatepost. He lifted the shotgun, holding it ready to fire. He looked at Sam over his shoulder. "Sam, you need to let me go in first. Blair won't harm me."

"I'm right behind you." Sam thumbed the safety off his gun. _God, let Dean be okay. Let us be in time._

The way Jim moved reminded Sam strongly of his father. He held the shotgun as if he used it in combat every day, primed to fire, his hand steady, his finger on the trigger. He moved quickly but with stealth, staying close to the walls, in the shadows. It made it easy for Sam to trust him. He followed Jim into the cottage.

Moonlight spilled through the holes in the roof, throwing strange shadows everywhere. With the ivy-covered walls and the eerie moonlight, Sam felt like he was entering a grotesque version of Sleeping Beauty's castle.

And then he saw them.

The huge grey wolf he knew to be Blair stood over what appeared to be a dead body. Sam saw milk-white skin, thin, almost skeletal limbs, and hair, blue-brown in the moonlight, tangled in the ivy. Dear god, was that Erin's true form?

The wolf snarled, its body tense. It made Sam look where the wolf was looking and he saw Dean. Dean, naked in the cold night, barely able to kneel, let alone stand. As Sam watched, he fell to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam started to move.

"No, Sam!" Jim snapped. "Stay where you are." He ran forward. "Blair, no!" Jim let the shotgun fall as he ran, intercepting the wolf before it could get to Dean. "He's not for you!"

Could Blair even understand human speech in this form? Sam remained still, obeying Jim's order, even though everything in him wanted to run to Dean.

Dean lay on his side, partly buried in the ivy. He was naked and Sam couldn't see his clothing anywhere. There was blood on his face, around his mouth.

Each detail increased Sam's fear for his brother. If Erin had bound Dean to her, would they be able to free him? They were planning to bind her, as she had been bound before, in the old iron mine, but would that free Dean? The legend said the only way to free a man from the Leannan Sidhe was to offer another man in his place. If they couldn't free Dean, what did that mean? Would his life be in danger? His sanity? There was so much Sam didn't know, and it scared him.

Sam heard Jim tell the wolf not to harm Dean. The wolf obeyed, moving toward the other body.

"Alright, Sam," Jim said quietly.

Sam flicked the safety on and held the gun out to Jim. "Watch her. She's not dead, whatever it looks like."

Jim took the gun from him. His other hand was still buried in the werewolf's fur, petting him as if it were a big, friendly puppy. "Got it," he said.

Sam ran to Dean's side.

Jim had told Sam that even in wolf form, Blair wouldn't harm him, so Sam ignored them both, trusting Jim to keep the wolf away while he took care of Dean. He lifted Dean's body into his arms, so Dean lay with his back against Sam's chest. His head lolled back against Sam's shoulder. He opened his eyes, but he didn't appear to be seeing Sam. His eyes were unfocussed. If Sam hadn't known better, he would have said Dean was stoned. But Dean never did drugs. He'd tried marijuana once, when they were kids. When their dad smelled it on him he'd made sure Dean would never make the same mistake again. So whatever it looked like, Dean's condition wasn't something he'd taken or smoked.

Magic. Glamour. Whatever you called it, it was devastating. Somehow, Sam had to break the spell. The only trouble was he had no idea how.

Lifting Dean's body clear of the ivy revealed one other detail to Sam: Dean's cock lay heavy and hard against his belly.

It was a sight that under other circumstances would have distracted Sam, but he was too scared to think sexual thoughts. He felt mortified for Dean, who would hate to be seen like this, weak and exposed. He stripped off his jacket to cover Dean's nakedness. As he spread the jacket over his brother, he heard Dean's voice. No words, just an incoherent mumbling.

He took Dean's chin in his hand, turning his face up to look into his unfocussed eyes. "Dean? Dude, are you in there?"

Dean blinked and suddenly his eyes were focussed on Sam's face.

"Dean!" Sam tried again.

"Sammy?" It was only a whisper, but a tightness in Sam's chest eased. It wasn't too late.

Dean lifted his head, then fell back into Sam's arms. "Erin. Where is she?"

"She's..." Sam looked over to where her body lay. The werewolf had made a mess of her, but Sam knew she wasn't dead. She was a Leannan Sidhe. Immortal. They could decapitate her and she'd survive it. "She's...gone," Sam said. He tightened his arms around Dean, holding him down, though Dean appeared too weak to get up. He wouldn't risk Dean going to her.

Dean's eyes were suddenly wide with panic. "Gone? No! Sam, I need..." He covered his dick with one hand, hissing at the touch.

Sam did the only thing he could think of. He covered Dean's mouth with his own. He knew Jim was watching, but that wasn't important any more. All he cared about was Dean. Sam had to break Erin's hold on Dean, and all he could think of was to turn Dean's lust to himself.

At first, Dean tried to push him away. Sam parted his lips, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth. He tasted the blood on Dean's lips. Suddenly, Dean relaxed in his arms, kissing Sam back. Dean's tongue thrust into Sam's mouth, hot and demanding. It was such a relief, Sam kissed Dean the way he would in bed, feeling the first threads of arousal curl in his groin. Dean whimpered into their joined mouths and Sam drew back, still holding him close.

Sam looked up to find Jim watching them. The look on Jim's face was enough. One friendship down the toilet. But Sam couldn't deal with that now. "I've got to help him," Sam said to Jim. He didn't raise his voice. "Can you manage her alone?" It was the most subtle way he could think of to ask for some privacy. He hated to do it to Jim, but Dean came first.

Jim stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. "I'm not alone. You'll catch up?"

"As soon as Dean's okay."

Jim nodded again and turned away. Sam caught the movement of the wolf as it bounded to Jim's side.

Sam didn't wait for Jim to leave. Jim would take Erin's body up to the old mine. With luck, he would get there before she revived. If not...well, as Jim said, he wasn't alone. Blair seemed capable of taking care of it...as long as the moonlight lasted.

Dean's passivity worried Sam. It was so unlike him. It seemed to be physical weakness, but Sam wasn't sure. What had Erin done to him?

Well...she needed him passive, or at least pliable. But she didn't need magic for that: seemed any pretty girl could lead Dean around by his dick. Pliable...but she needed him to be strong enough to fuck. That was how she ensnared her men...and how she fed.

Dean reached up toward him. "Sam...Erin..."

_Strong enough to fuck._ Erin had bespelled Dean. Sam had to break her spell, and he could think of only one way to do that. Her link to Dean was sexual. Sam had a sexual link to Dean, too. His should be stronger than hers...but he'd never felt less like having sex.

He leaned in to Dean, as if to kiss him. His lips almost touching Dean's skin, he said, "Fuck me, Dean. You don't need her. C'mon, big brother." He kissed Dean, long and deep.

Dean twisted in Sam's arms until they were face to face. He pushed Sam down, tearing at his clothing. It was the reaction Sam wanted, but Dean's hands were clumsy.

The buttons of Sam's shirt flew off as Dean tore them open. Under the shirt, Sam wore a t-shirt. Dean grabbed it, balling his fists in the material. It was as if he didn't know what to do next. Sam took one of Dean's hands and dragged it downward, guiding Dean's hand to his belt. Dean got the message and unbuckled Sam's belt, tore open his jeans, and thrust his hand inside.

Sam was too cold - and too scared - to be aroused. He enjoyed rough sex, and he had no problem with quick-and-dirty but this...this wasn't Dean. This frantic, needing thing was not the brother he loved. He realised suddenly that this wasn't going to stop. Dean _couldn't_ stop. He needed to touch, to fuck, and he was gonna do it whether they wanted it or not.

Dean's hand trapped in Sam's pants cupped him the way Dean would if he were hard. Sam lay back in the ivy, hoping there wasn't any poison ivy in the tangled vines, and raised his hips to pull his pants down. Dean yanked at the denim, hurting Sam, leaving red weals across his hips. Sam stifled a cry. "Dean, god, slow down!"

Sam groped for his jacket which had fallen away from Dean's body. He didn't have any lube but there was a condom in his wallet. It would make this a little easier.

Dean's hands on Sam's shoulders held him down. Dean was straddling Sam's body, looking down at him, and the look in his eyes was hungry. Feral. "Ssssam..." It was a long, drawn out hiss.

Sam looked up into his brother's eyes. Somewhere behind the lust and the desperate need, Dean was in there. Dean recognised him. Dean wouldn't hurt Sam. Sam believed that like a child believes in Santa Claus: an absolute, unquestioning faith. Dean wouldn't hurt him. That had been a constant all his life, no matter what challenges or horrors they faced. Not even Erin could take that much of what Dean was.

Sam reached up and grasped Dean's forearms, not pushing him away, just holding on, tight. "Dean," he said firmly. "Stop."

For an instant Dean's grip on his shoulders tightened. Then Dean blinked and shook his head. "Sammy? Oh, god...what's happening?"

"Dean, it's okay. I know what you need, dude. Just let me get a condom."

Dean looked horrified. "Not you. Sam..."

Sam reached up to Dean's face with one hand. With the other, he groped blindly for the jacket. "I want you, Dean," he lied.

"You don't understand. I feel..."

"I know." Sam's fingers found the jacket and he started to drag it toward him.

"I need..." Dean whispered, and it seemed as if the brief moment of lucidity had exhausted his strength.

Sam had to twist away from Dean to find his wallet. Dean grabbed him as he half-turned, forcing him onto his belly. Sam dug into the pocket and his fingers closed over the wallet as he felt Dean's hands spread his buttocks. Sam would let Dean fuck him because the alternative was too terrible to consider but he didn't want it. Not like this. He gripped the wallet and thrust it back toward Dean, praying there was enough of Dean left for him to take it.

There was.

Dean snatched the wallet from Sam's hand. The few moments it took Dean to get the condom on gave Sam a chance to find a more comfortable position. He raised himself to his knees, his pants down around his ankles. He thrust his hands into the ivy, getting a good grip on the vines. He braced himself for pain and felt Dean close on him, the blunt head of his cock probing between his buttocks.

Dean stroked Sam's back, soothing. He began to push into Sam, but slowly. There was pain, but it wasn't all that bad. Dean was surprisingly gentle, the pressure of him building slowly, so Sam had time to get used to it, to relax and take it all. Sam had forgotten this about Dean. He always knew what Sam needed. When he was balls-deep in Sam's body, Dean stopped, reaching beneath to cup Sam's cock, stroking firmly. Despite the cold, Sam felt his cock begin to harden under Dean's touch. Only then did Dean begin to move inside him.

Dean withdrew himself slowly then drove into Sam's ass, all gentleness gone. It tore a cry from Sam's lips, half of pain, half, unexpectedly, pleasure. Dean's hand pumped his dick and Sam was lost, lost in the slide of flesh within flesh, the sweat of Dean's palm and Dean's voice repeating _Sam, Sammy, Sam_ until even that was lost and Sam cried out, gripping the ivy so hard his hands bled and he cried out, spilling himself into Dean's hand. Dean's teeth scraped Sam's skin, biting into his shoulder as Dean climaxed with a wordless groan.

Dean collapsed on top of Sam, breathing hard. Sam didn't move, waiting for Dean, desperately hoping this was enough. Dean pulled out of him, stroking a hand down Sam's side.

"Sam? Holy crap, are you okay?"

It sounded so much like Dean that Sam almost laughed with relief. He turned, wincing a little. "I'm okay. You?"

Dean scowled. "Where is that bitch? And where the hell are my clothes? Jesus, it's cold!"


	5. Chapter 5

Jim with help, or hindrance, from Blair, dragged the Leannan Sidhe's body from the ruins of the cottage. Sam insisted the sidhe was immortal but her body was a dead weight. Jim gripped her upper arm and shoulder; Blair bit into her other shoulder and together they dragged her out of the cottage. Between them, her head rolled back, giving Jim a view of the mess Blair made of her throat. Her neck was broken, bone gleaming white through torn flesh.

Jim heard her heart beat and almost dropped her. _Shit!_ He didn't understand how, but she was alive.

It was then that the horses went wild.

Jim had forgotten that that horses were terrified of Blair. Sam's horse was tied securely to the lowest branch of a tree, but Jim had left his mare free to graze; he knew she wouldn't wander far. But Blair's presence was too much for them both. Neighing and whining filled the air. Jim dropped Erin's body and ran to the mare. He caught her reins just as she reared and tossed her head, preparing to bolt.

"Whoa! Whoa, girl! It's okay." Jim got a firm grip on the bridle, wrapping the reins around his wrist. He kept talking, soft nonsense words to calm her down. He heard the other horse calm a little and stroked the mare's neck.

When she finally settled, Jim looked for Blair. The wolf sat on his haunches some distance up the snow-covered track. His mouth was open, his long, pink tongue lolling out. It looked like he was laughing.

"You... Son of a..." Jim was torn between anger and laughter. "You did that on purpose!" he accused the wolf.

Blair barked and bounded away up the track.

Jim petted the mare a bit longer, making sure she was okay, then he went back to pick up the sidhe's body. Struggling a little, he hauled the body up to rest across the mare's rump. He'd brought a length of rope and tied her down quickly. Then he climbed up into the saddle.

Jim looked back at the derelict cottage. He heard their voices:

_"Dean. Stop."_

_"Sammy? Oh, god...what's happening?"_

He should go back. Whatever was happening in there, it wasn't right.

Blair was heading up to the mine, expecting Jim to follow. Stopping the murders was Jim's priority, and that meant putting Erin somewhere she couldn't hurt anyone again. With a last look back at the cottage, Jim urged his horse forward.

***

#### Morning

Inside the abandoned mine it was utterly dark. The air was good, though the smell of damp and rust was strong. Dean settled the shotgun across his knees and lifted the flashlight again. He played the beam across Erin's body.

When Dean first saw what was left of Erin, he understood why Sam hadn't been worried about leaving Jim alone with her. The werewolf had torn out her throat and a big chunk of her belly; if she were mortal, she'd be very dead. But Dean could hear the whistle of air through her ruined neck. Her heart was still beating, her lungs still working. It was horrible to see.

She would heal. They didn't know how quickly, or what might happen when she did. Jim led them into the mine, to the place where she'd been bound before. Now she was in the iron cage, but the cage alone wouldn't hold her for long. Sam insisted she couldn't be killed. She was immortal. Dean wanted to test that theory, but Sam seemed very sure. They couldn't kill her, so they needed to bind her. Not bind her with rope, but with magic. There was a ritual that was supposed to make it impossible for her to leave the mine. So Dean stood guard while Sam and Blair searched for the binding ritual they needed.

Sam hadn't wanted to leave Dean here, as if Dean was gonna give her a second chance to screw him over. He wasn't that dumb...and he needed to do this. Needed to prove to himself that he could. He was free of her and he was gonna stay that way.

His eyes free of Erin's glamour, Dean wondered how he had ever thought her beautiful. Her skin was grey-white: corpse white, except around her eyes, where it was darker. With her eyes closed her mouth was slack, her lips dark red. She looked like a skeletal, gothic clown. He moved the flashlight slowly down her body. He remembered Jim's description of Jean Marsden's body and looked at her hands. Her fingers were long and thin, each one ending not in a human fingernail but in a long, thin, white claw.

_All the better to rip your heart out with, Grandma._ Dean understood her MO now. She preyed on men when she could, keeping each one alive as long as they tasted good. She picked strangers, tourists, who wouldn't be missed in the same way as locals. When she used each man up, she killed him with those claws, always at the full moon so if anyone came looking for a supernatural killer, they would suspect the werewolf, not her. And in winter, when there were no tourists to enslave, she killed and fed on her victims' blood instead of sex, like settling for bread and butter when you'd prefer a juicy steak. Dean guessed she'd been attracted to Jean Marsden's sexual energy: Blair told them she'd been walking home from her boyfriend's place...it wasn't hard to translate. Poor kid. But Dean would make sure she killed no one else.

He turned away, training the flashlight over the walls of the cavern. He could see the symbols painted on both sides of the tunnel. Some he recognised: a pentacle, ancient symbols for salt and iron. Most he didn't know, and some were too faint for him to make them out in the darkness. He got up and walked over to the wall, touching the pentacle with one hand. Dark paint against dark rock; it was impossible to tell if there was something special about the paint.

He turned the light to the cage again. As Dean shone the light into her face, Erin opened her fire-green eyes. Her throat was almost fully healed, only a slight bruising to show where ragged, bloody skin had been a few moments before. Erin raised her hand as Dean watched and suddenly there was light: a softly glowing ball hovering above her. Erin smiled at him, revealing small, sharp teeth.

"Dean. My Dean." Her voice was a low, sexy growl.

But Dean would not let her fool him again. He'd hurt Sam because of her. "Not yours, bitch," he answered harshly.

Erin sat up gracefully, turning to face him. A moment before, Dean had been gazing at the wounds on her nude body; suddenly she was clothed. She wore ordinary clothing: a scoop-necked top in deep green that clung to her body, showing off her small breasts; black denim pants, leather boots. Gold glittered at her ears, and her wrist. The shine drew his eyes to her hands; they looked human, pink nail polish on human-looking nails. Erin's skin had lost its pallor, and when Dean looked at her face again he saw her features were human: the lovely face he'd fallen for.

She frowned at him, an artful expression. "That's not very nice."

"It wasn't meant to be _nice_." Dean answered.

"Oh, come on. We had fun, didn't we?"

_Fun? That's fun?_ "You tried to kill me, sweetheart."

She looked surprised. "Kill you? Hardly that, my love." Erin licked her lips, leaning forward, closer to the bars of her cage. "I just took a little taste."

"Yeah? Well, I hope I tasted good, darlin', because that's the last you're getting for a long time."

She wrapped her arms around her knees, turning her face up to look at the roof of the cage. For the first time, she looked scared. "You shouldn't be like this. You should be in love with me. How is this possible?"

Dean didn't answer.

Erin stood, moving close to the bars. She looked into Dean's eyes. "You tasted wonderful, my love. It is a thousand years since a true hero came to me as a willing sacrifice." He watched her eyes become soft and when she spoke again, it was quietly. "You look upon me as a monster, my love, but once men came eagerly to my bed. They fought for the honour."

Dean returned her look defiantly. "And you killed them. All of them. Some honour." Erin had no hold on him now, thank god. No...thank Sammy. He owed his brother, big time.

"Your brother?" Erin exclaimed. "Oh, Dean. I should have tried that threesome."

"I never offered it."

She gripped the bars with both hands like a prisoner in an old Western. "You must know this cage won't hold me for long."

"I know it held you here for fifty years. We're gonna bind you in here again."

Her eyes went wide, and Dean recognised fear. "Dean, no. Please. You can't."

"Watch me."

"No! Kill me if you must, but don't leave me here to starve! Dean, I was just trying to survive. I have a right to live, just as you do."

Dean laughed bitterly. "Oh, sweetheart, have you got the wrong guy."

"You cannot be so cruel, my love."

Dean cocked the shotgun and stalked toward the cage. "You kill people. It's my job to stop it. Now shut the fuck up."

"You came to me willingly, Dean. You knew what I am and still you made love to me."

"Shut up," he repeated. What he wanted to say was it wasn't "making love"; it was rape. But he couldn't bring himself to use that word.

Erin dropped to her knees. "Don't leave me trapped here. I beg you. I'd rather die!" There were tears shining in her green eyes.

Dean shook his head. "Sam says you can't be killed. I just watched you heal. There's no way in hell I'm letting you go to kill more people." If she didn't shut up, he was going to test Sam's theory. How much of a threat would she be if Dean took a machete to her and boxed her up in pieces?

She smiled then, a bitter smile. "You let the werewolf go, but not me?"

Dean heard a sound from outside the cavern. It gave him a reason to turn away, and he was grateful for that, because he _was_ uneasy about letting the werewolf - Blair - go. Blair claimed he'd never killed anyone, but how could Dean be sure? Werewolves were killers. Dad wouldn't let Blair go. But Dad wouldn't have missed with his first bullet.

Erin pressed her advantage. "He lied to you, my love. He is your enemy, not I."

Dean spun around, pointing the shotgun at her. He was squeezing down on the trigger when Jim's voice came from behind him.

"You really are a piece of work, aren't you?" Jim said, his voice heavy with anger. "You've been trying to frame Blair all along. Why? Has he done something to you we don't know about, or is he just a convenient scapegoat?"

Erin gave Jim wide eyes, but she didn't answer him. Instead she looked at Dean, silently begging him to defend her.

_Not a chance, sweetheart. _"He's right," Dean told her. "You made your kills look like a wolf, you timed every one so it happened at full moon so people like me wouldn't suspect you. It worked, too."

"If you'd starved in an iron cage for a century, you'd be careful too."

Dean nodded. "I might."

"Hungry?" Jim asked.

For a moment, Dean thought he was talking to Erin, then he grinned. "Oh, yeah! Dude, tell me you brought breakfast."

Jim opened the backpack he was carrying and pulled out a paper-wrapped package, which he tossed to Dean. "I left Blair and Sam talking over this magic thing. They'll be here in an hour, maybe."

Dean unwrapped his breakfast eagerly. Thick sliced bread, lots of bacon, melted cheese and tomato. God, he was starving! Dean took a big bite.

Why was he so hungry? Sure, he'd skipped a meal, but... Dean looked at Erin, who was still watching him through the bars of her cage. She'd taken something from him. She fed off him.

Dean held the shotgun out to Jim. "Dude, can you take over for a few minutes? I need to get some air."

Jim accepted the gun. "Sure." Dean offered the flashlight, too, but Jim waved it away. "I don't need it."

"You can really see in the dark?"

"I need a little light, but much less than you do." Jim checked the gun was loaded. "Take your time, Dean. She's not going anywhere."

***

"You have some psychic ability, Sam," Blair repeated as they walked side by side up the path toward the mine. "I know you're untrained, but you're the only one of the four of us who can do it."

"I'm not sure I _can_." Sam shook his head. "I have dreams. Sometimes I get...weird vibes...and I can usually tell when someone's lying to me, but that's all." He stopped walking and looked down over the valley. "My...talent...or power...whatever you want to call it, just isn't that reliable."

Blair looked up at him, his expression serious. "Well, the alternative is for us to use the full binding spell we found. Sam, none of us is a magician. We might not succeed."

"That spell needed a sacrifice," Sam added.

"And there's that," Blair agreed. He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. He could see the kid was scared, scared of his power, perhaps, but that was something Blair understood. He knew what it was like to have a power you couldn't control. "Sam, I think you're more powerful than you admit. You healed Dean last night. That's supposed to be impossible."

He'd said the wrong thing. Blair realised it as soon as he saw Sam's expression change. Sam met his eyes. "You know, don't you? What I did for Dean."

Oh. Blair nodded. "I know," he answered truthfully. "Maybe better than you do."

Sam's eyes widened a little. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not psychic, but as a wolf I can see things that people don't. Last night, when I saw Dean, he was dying. The wolf saw easy prey. If Jim hadn't been there..." Blair shook his head. It was a risk every full moon, but last night had been a risk too far. He was grateful for Jim in his life, for so many things... "Do _you_ know what you did, Sam?"

"I..." Sam looked puzzled. "Dean was flipped out. I brought him back."

He really didn't know. _My god, Sam, are you saying you did that purely on instinct? You don't even know what that means, do you?_ Blair tried to explain. "Dean's spirit, his aura if you like, was wounded. It was like a haemorrhage of the spirit. You healed that wound with your own, like a psychic blood transfusion. The mechanism you chose doesn't matter, man. You gave him a part of yourself; too much and you might have died in his place."

Sam thought about that for a moment, then said quietly, "He's my brother."

Blair, who had never had a brother or sister, could only nod. "My point is, if you were powerful enough to save him, then helping with this binding should be easy for you."

Sam looked grim. "I don't know, dude. I seem to be able to do things for Dean that I can't replicate." He took a breath. "I'll try."

"Great. Let's go." He started up the path.

"Blair," Sam called after him.

Blair stopped but didn't walk back to Sam.

Sam started toward him. "If you're not a psychic, how do you know what I did for Dean?"

"Long story." Blair waited for Sam to catch up with him. "I...died once. I mean, I wasn't breathing and my heart stopped. Long enough that I should have been brain dead. Someone did for me what you did for Dean." Blair suppressed a shiver. He didn't enjoy the memory. Alex, and that damned fountain...he had been dead. Not merely dying, but dead. Jim brought him back.

"There's more," Sam said astutely.

Blair nodded. "It's private, man." He pointed. "There's the mine." Jim's horse was tied up outside. Dean was there, too, sitting on one of the rocks outside the mine entrance.

Sam hurried on ahead.

Dean stood when he saw them coming. "Dude, you took your time. Tell me you've got the spell."

Sam nodded. "It's kind of a good-news, bad-news deal."

"Yeah? What's the bad news?"

Sam glanced back to Blair. "We got the translation of the binding spell and...well, it's dark stuff. It requires a blood sacrifice."

"Human blood?" Dean demanded. "A death?"

Sam nodded. "Both, though the death doesn't have to be human."

"I hope that's not the only good news."

Blair reached them. "No, the good news is we - Sam and I - think it's possible we can do without the spell. You see, the spell has already been cast within these tunnels. It should be possible for us to renew the old spell, which would be easier than starting from scratch." Blair grimaced. "But there's a catch. We need to talk, man, decide what to do before we go in there."

Dean sat back on his rock. "How's the arm?" he asked.

Blair rubbed at the wound on his forearm. "Healing." It didn't hurt any more.

"Okay, so what's the deal?"

Blair let Sam do the explaining.

"This isn't a ritual like an exorcism, it's a spell. Dark magic. It works by binding a life and a death into its making. We've been over every detail and we believe we can avoid the death part by renewing the original spell..."

"You already said all this, Sammy."

"Yeah. We can avoid the death; not the life. The spell works by creating a human guardian who becomes the magical equivalent of a lock and key. The spell calls him the Keeper. As long as the Keeper lives, he or she is the only person who can set the sidhe free."

"So she got out seven years ago because the original Keeper died?"

Dean was quick. Blair nodded. "Yes, although whoever the Keeper was could have been dead for some time. The spell doesn't vanish when the Keeper dies, it just weakens." He glanced at Sam, who nodded. "The bottom line, Dean is that one of us - you or me - has to become the new Keeper."

Dean looked quickly at Sam. "Why not you or Jim?"

Sam looked almost embarrassed. "We need Jim to make sure we can find all of the symbols in the tunnel. And I'm supposed to...to keep a psychic eye on things so we'll know when the spell is complete. That leaves you two."

Dean shrugged. "Okay. So how do we do this?"

"With blood," Blair answered. "A lot of it, I'm afraid."

***

"No. No way." Jim spoke with finality.

Blair spread his hands wide. "You want to let her go?"

Jim looked back into the tunnel to where Sam now sat with the shotgun across his lap, watching Erin. "There's got to be another way," Jim said helplessly. Blair was already wounded, from when Dean shot him two nights before. There was no way Jim was going to let him slice himself open.

But then Dean stepped forward. "It won't be Blair doing the bleeding," he said. He was looking past Jim to Erin in her cage.

Blair shook his head. "Dean, we didn't..."

Dean interrupted him. "You told me this spell needs human blood. I don't mean any offence, dude, but you're not human."

"I'm in human form now," Blair objected. "I'm human nearly all the time."

Dean nodded. "Maybe that's enough. But maybe it's not. I'm not gonna take the chance."

Blair was looking stubborn so Jim interrupted before he could start a real argument. "This whole 'magic' thing sounds crazy to me. Blair, are you sure there's no other way?"

Blair looked serious. "Jim, last night we had the element of surprise and that's the only reason we won. We can't kill her. We can't hold her with physical force. We know this binding spell worked before. It seems like the best choice we have."

"So why can't I do this?"

"Sam and I went over the ritual and the photographs you took in there. There are five symbols we have to repaint, with blood, to renew the spell, but there are a lot more than five on the walls. We need your senses to identify the right ones."

Jim nodded. He didn't like it, but he understood. "Then I think Dean's right, Chief. Don't take any chances. That is..." he turned to Dean, "...if you're strong enough."

Dean's smile was confident, perhaps over-confident. "Let's put this bitch in the ground."

***

Blair and Sam had brought extra flashlights as well as extra guns. They climbed, one by one over the fallen rubble and into the tunnel. Every time someone went through the gap more of the rubble fell away, widening the hole. Dean muttered something about hoping it was stable as he went through. Blair told him it probably wasn't, but Jim would be able to let them know if there was a problem.

"You put a hell of a lot of faith in his senses," Dean said sceptically.

Jim didn't mind his scepticism. He _would_ hear the stresses in the rock if there was going to be a collapse, but he might not hear them in time to do more than shout "duck!" Dean was right to be sceptical.

But Blair smiled at Dean. "I've lived with Jim a long time, man. We've tested the limits of his senses. So trust me, this will be easy for him."

Jim didn't contradict him, because they all needed to believe they were safe in here. He had to stoop to get through the opening himself. As he straightened up, he saw Sam handing the shotgun to Dean.

"What is it, dude?" Dean asked, shining a flashlight into Sam's face. "You look...weird."

"I'm...it's just that there's a lot of power in here. Blair was right. I can feel it rushing around us, like...like we're in the eye of a hurricane. It's like nothing I've ever felt..." He swallowed. "I'm ready."

Dean passed the gun to Jim and stripped off his shirt. "Okay, let's do this."

Erin screamed. It was an unearthly wail that cut through the air like fingernails on a chalk board. Jim clapped his hands over his ears, gritting his teeth. The sound pierced his skull painfully and Jim fell to his knees. He saw Dean reach for his knife. He saw Blair covering his ears in obvious pain and reached toward him. Sam was ahead of them all. His gunshot echoed through the tunnel. Sam shot again, and a third time before the screaming stopped.

Dean shook his head as he reached down to Jim. "Are you okay, dude?"

Jim allowed Dean to help him up. "Yeah," he answered shakily. There were some disadvantages to his senses; that hurt him badly. His ears were still ringing. His voice steadier, Jim added, "I'm fine."

Dean walked toward the cage. There was blood on Erin's face. Dean looked right into her eyes. "Girl, you are really starting to tick me off."

"Don't do this, my love," she begged, desperation in her eyes. "I'll leave. I'll find a new place."

Blair said, "So you can start killing in a new town?"

Blair had it right. "I don't think so," Jim said, to back him up.

"Not a chance," Sam agreed.

Dean made it unanimous. "I already told you, sweetheart. You've got the wrong guy." He held out his knife to Sam.

"You want me to..." Sam didn't take the knife.

"I ain't trusting anyone else to cut me open."

Sam accepted the knife.

Jim held the shotgun out to Blair. "Keep an eye on her, Chief." He knew Blair disliked guns, but he trusted Blair to use it if necessary while Sam and Dean were occupied.

Blair nodded, taking the shotgun from Jim.

Jim turned to Sam. "Show me which symbols I'm looking for."

Sam had everything on a sheet of paper: printouts of the photographs Jim took in the tunnel the day before, with a written version of the symbol beside each one. There were five of them. Jim studied the images for a moment, memorising them, then gave the paper to Dean.

"I just draw over the original symbols with my own blood?" Dean said. Jim listened for signs of reluctance or nerves in his voice, but Dean seemed steady, as if this was a normal thing for him.

"That's right," Blair said. He was watching the cage.

"I can feel the energy of the old spell in here," Sam said softly. "I'll feel it change if this works. _When_ it works." He lifted the knife, looking at Dean. "Ready?"

Dean rolled back his sleeve offering Sam his left hand. "Do it," he said.

Sam kept his expression rigidly under control as he cut into his brother's arm. Dean flinched at the first cut but didn't pull away. Blood welled up at once. Sam cut the way a person does when they want to suicide: vertically from Dean's wrist, cutting deeply enough to ensure the flow of blood wouldn't ease off too quickly. Blood flowed down across Dean's palm, between his fingers.

Erin made a small sound, moving closer to the bars of her cage.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded without speaking, which told Jim he wasn't entirely okay. But Dean turned to him, then. "Show me," he said firmly.

Jim walked across to the wall. "From what I can see, we start here." He could see the faded markings on the rough stone surface but in this darkness it would be almost - or perhaps entirely - invisible to the others. He showed Dean exactly where the mark was, tracing it with his own hand before stepping back to let Dean do his part.

After the third symbol, the flow of blood from Dean's arm had slowed enough that he asked Sam to cut him again. With the three of them watching as Sam cut into his brother's flesh, for a moment only Blair was watching Erin.

Everything happened very fast.

Blair snapped, "Get back!"

Jim whirled around and had time to see Erin, gripping the bars with one hand, raising the other above her head. And then he was blind. Instantly, utterly blind. But it wasn't darkness. Somehow Erin had lit up the entire tunnel with blinding light. Jim squeezed his eyes shut but it didn't help. He still had his other senses, though.

He heard someone - Sam? Dean? He couldn't tell - move toward the cage. He groped for the wall to steady himself. He heard the cage crash open. More movement. Jim heard Blair scream. Something splashed his face, warm, wet. Blood. Oh, god, Blair's blood.

"Blair!" Jim shouted.

Gunfire was deafeningly loud in the confined space. Then the light was gone. Jim opened his eyes but saw nothing. He was blind.

"Blair!" he shouted again. "Chief, where are you? I can't see!"

Hands gripped his shoulders. "He's alive," Dean said.

_I want to hear that from him!_ Jim struggled up, using Dean's body for support. "Where is he? I can't see! What's happening?"

And then, Blair's beloved voice. "I'll live, Jim." He sounded weak, but he was alive.

Jim's panic receded a little. "What happened?" he asked.

Dean was still holding him up. "Erin broke out of the cage while we were all blind. Blair and Sam stopped her, but Blair's cut up pretty bad."

"'M okay, Jim," Blair said again.

"The girl?" Jim wanted to be at Blair's side, but...priorities. The mission came before the personal, as long as Blair was okay."

Dean answered, "Sam's got her. She's not going anywhere for a while."

"Then let's finish this before anyone else gets hurt."

"How? Dude, you're blind!"

_Yeah, good point._ "My eyes just got overloaded. They'll adjust. For now, just point me to the wall. Get me oriented. I've still got four senses left."

Dean didn't argue. His hand on Jim's back guided him toward the wall. Jim reached out, running his hands over the rock. "Where's the last symbol we drew?" Behind him, he could hear Blair breathing. He concentrated on the sound, on Blair's breath and heartbeat, reassuring him that his lover was still alive.

Dean took Jim's hand in his and guided his touch across the rock. "Here, Jim."

"Okay." Jim could feel the blood, tacky on his fingertips. He took a deep breath, visualising the walls he could no longer see. "The fourth one is an inverted triangle with some other lines. It should be about a metre to the right, lower down the wall than this one. Do you see it?"

Dean moved away from him and after a moment he said, "Yeah, I've got it. I can't see all of it, though."

"You've got Sam's drawing. Just do your best, Dean." Oh, god, the smell of blood was so thick in the air. Iron. "Chief?"

Sam answered, "He's okay. He can heal any wound if it's not silver, right?"

"We've never exactly tested that theory." Jim rubbed at his eyes. Shadows. All he could see were shadows. He blinked a few times. Maybe a little light, but just a blur. Nothing worth seeing. "Damn, that bitch really messed up my eyesight."

"Jim..." Blair's voice was barely a whisper.

"Chief?"

"Jim, relax and focus. You need to dial it back, not up. Dial it back."

_Back? But that would make everything darker..._ Jim mentally kicked himself. Of course. "Thanks, Chief." He needed to see Blair. This was a simple exercise; he should be able to do it (pardon the bad pun) with his eyes shut. The light of Erin's glamour had overloaded his eyes and now he was overcompensating, making the effect worse even with the light gone. He needed to bring his eyesight back under control. Blair's words focussed him, helped him to concentrate. Slowly, things came back into focus.

Jim looked for Blair. He lay back in Sam's arms and there was blood. A lot of blood, from three parallel gashes across his middle. Jesus, it looked like she'd tried to rip his heart out. "Oh, my god, Blair!"

Blair smiled up at him. "I guess that means you can see."

Jim looked for Erin. She lay in the open cage, half of her face missing. Jim recognised gunshot wounds that must have been at near point-blank range. She was healing as he watched.

"Jim," Dean called, and Jim turned to face him. "We've got to finish this, dude. Where's the last symbol?"

Jim nodded, focussing on the job. He pointed. "Base of the wall, just to your right."

Dean stepped back. He pointed his flashlight at the right spot, but he was frowning. "I can't see anything, dude."

"There's not much to see." Jim knelt beside the wall. "Give me your hand."

There was fresh blood on Dean's fingers. Jim grasped his hand and showed him exactly where to touch. As they finished the symbol together, Jim felt something shiver over his skin. It was like a mild electric shock and he jerked away from Dean in surprise.

Sam gasped, "Holy crap!"

"I felt it, too," Jim said.

"Yeah, that did it," Sam agreed.

Dean walked across and closed the cage door. "She's bound now?" he asked, looking at Sam.

Sam, still holding Blair in his arms, looked up at Dean. "Yeah, I think so. If we've done it right..."

"If?" Dean interrupted sharply.

"We did it right, Dean. I'm sure. You're the Keeper of the spell. Erin can't leave this place while you're alive, unless you choose to let her out."

Dean's bleeding hand was wrapped around a bar of the cage. "And that ain't gonna happen." He gazed down at Erin, watching her heal, and the look on his face was something very dark. "If you're wrong, Sam, and she does get out, we'll be back." He crouched down beside the cage, leaving a smear of his blood on the bar. "You hear me, sweetheart? You'd better hope this spell holds you, because if I have to come back, I'm gonna bury you in six different states."

***

"It's alright," Jim said to Sam. "I've got him." He gently lifted Blair from Sam's arms. "Thanks for helping him," he added.

Sam nodded an acknowledgement. He seemed about to say something but apparently thought better of it; he stayed silent. Jim watched Sam brush his hair back out of his eyes and noticed that his hand was cut and bruised. They were small cuts, recently closed. Jim didn't ask because his arms were full of Blair and because it didn't take a genius to figure out what Sam was doing to get himself cut up. Jim hoped the kid's hands were the worst of it but he had more important things to worry about.

The smell of Blair's blood was choking Jim. He had lost so much of it. Blood soaked into Blair's shirt and there was so much that Jim couldn't see his wound - or wounds - beneath the blood and cloth. He knew it was bad. Blair's head rested on Jim's shoulder, his breath warm on Jim's neck. Jim treasured that warmth as proof that Blair was still alive.

"Chief? You still with me?"

Blair's voice was very quiet, his words slurred. "'M fine, Jim. You worry too much."

Dean was at the mouth of the tunnel. He looked back, meeting Jim's eyes. "Dude, we need to get out of here." The offer of help was unspoken, but clear.

Jim said, "Go ahead. I've got Blair."

Dean nodded and ducked into the tunnel.

***

"Hold still, dude. This is gonna hurt." Sam dipped the cloth in the antiseptic liquid Jim had given him. He squeezed off the excess liquid and began to clean the wound in Dean's arm. He felt Dean instinctively flinch away from the pain, just as he had when Sam cut him, but he didn't complain. As he cleaned the dried blood away from the wound, Sam saw that it was still seeping blood a little. He was afraid he'd cut too deeply and the wound would need stitches.

Finally, Sam dropped the cloth into the bowl. The antiseptic was tinged pink with Dean's blood. He covered the cut with an absorbent dressing and bandaged it tightly. As he tied the bandage into place, he looked up, meeting Dean's eyes.

"Thanks," Dean said, rolling his sleeve down. He looked uncomfortable. "Uh...Sam...the other night...when we..."

"Fucked like rabbits?" Sam suggested, grinning to hide his surprise that Dean had raised the subject. Dean, who would rather face a gang of rampaging zombies than talk about his feelings.

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

"Well...I think you were right. I mean, Erin...she did something to me...maybe both of us...that made us..."

Sam nodded. He was very tempted to stay quiet and make Dean finish that sentence, but he took pity on his brother. "Yeah, I know. Let's hear it for psychic Viagra, huh?"

"I'm just saying...it wasn't us, Sam." Dean stood, walking away from Sam to lean against their bedroom window.

That was going nowhere Sam wanted to go. He shook his head, smiling. "I don't know, Dean. I remember a few nights..."

"Not in the past four years," Dean interrupted.

It was true, but what was Dean saying? Did he not want...?

There was a quiet knock on the door and Sam swallowed the protest he was about to make. "Yeah?" he called.

Jim opened the door. "I've got Blair settled in bed. Are you ready to talk about those fires?"

Sam was about to ask for a few more minutes alone with Dean, but Dean had other ideas. He stood, walking toward Jim. "Sounds good." He picked up the journal which was lying on the end of the bed. "Sam, you coming?"

***

Dean sat on the leather couch in the study with their father's journal in his hands. The journal was old, leather-bound and packed with loose pages. John Winchester's most precious possession...Dean's now. He held it out to Jim. "Our mom died in November 1983. It was in Lawrence, Kansas. The fire was the same as the case you just described." He looked across the room to Sam, who was sitting at Blair's desk. Jim hadn't asked Sam about Jessica...at least not yet. "I don't remember much," Dean added. "I was only four years old. But Dad's version of what happened is in his journal."

Jim took the journal from Dean's hands. "Thanks for letting me see this," he said. He opened the journal, starting from the beginning. Inside the front jacket were John's medals. Jim hesitated, looking at them. "Vietnam," he said, looking down at Dean. "Your dad's a marine?"

Dean nodded. "He was."

"I missed 'Nam, but I saw a lot of action in South America when I was in the army."

"I thought you were a cop?" Sam questioned.

"Army ranger, until '91. Cascade PD after that. I was with the major crimes division until...well, until Blair got bitten and living in the city became a bad idea."

Dean picked up the story. "After Mom died, Dad started looking for the thing that killed her. We never found any trace of it until recently..." Again, he glanced at Sam and didn't mention Jessica. He didn't need to. Jim understood. "We know about one other woman the Demon killed about twenty years ago..."

"Who?" Jim interrupted. "And where?" He moved to his desk and picked up a pen.

"I, uh, we never did get her name. The family name was Miller. Saginaw, Michigan." Dean watched Jim make a note of it. "That's about all we know. Dad took off at the end of October, when we think he picked up the Demon's trail."

"That would have been after the fire in New Jersey," Jim said. "How is he tracking it, Dean? Just following these fires?"

Dean shook his head. "He hasn't told me a damn thing. He's been out of contact for months, dude. One phone call, a couple of text messages...enough I know he's still alive and on its trail."

"You don't know much," Jim commented.

Sam said, "I know it killed someone I loved. I know I want to find it and send it back to hell."

Jim turned to him. "I'm sorry, Sam." He sounded like he meant it. "I do think like a cop. The evidence trail is everything." Jim reached into the desk and pulled out a laptop. He opened it up as he spoke. "Speaking of evidence...this is everything I collected on the fires this year. The earliest one I found was in Arizona, then New Jersey, Palo Alto, California which you know about, then Maine and Ohio. There are also other unexplained fires I found that might be connected."

Dean stood, walking over to get a closer look at the laptop. "That's five fires so far." Five, including Jessica. Four families going through god-knows-what hell. Sam walked toward them and the expression on his face was a mirror of Dean's thoughts. This wasn't just about revenge. _Saving people, hunting things...the family business._ Someone had to stop this thing.

"Now," Jim went on, opening up a file on the computer, "as my work is consultancy, I'm supposed to wipe this computer after every job. I haven't gotten around to doing that yet, but these are still confidential police files." He turned his back on the laptop and looked at Dean. "You understand why I can't show you this, don't you?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"Good. I...er...I'm going to check on Blair. I'm sure I can trust you both not to pry into things you shouldn't."

Dean got the message. He grinned. "Yes, sir."

Jim looked at Sam, then. "Sam, if you're willing I _would_ like to hear your version of what happened in Palo Alto."

Sam nodded. "Yeah...I guess you know most of what I told the cops was a lie."

"Later, then?"

"Okay."

Jim left them alone with the laptop. Sam sat down at the computer before Jim was even out of the door. He started skimming through the files. "You know," he said to Dean, who was dragging a chair over to the desk, "we should get a copy of this stuff to Dad."

"How? He never answers his voicemail."

"I think he would for this."

Dean nodded. "He might, but he's avoiding us for a reason, Sam. We'll have to try something else. A mail drop maybe. Post office box?"

"Works for me," Sam agreed. He was looking at a picture on the computer screen. The picture had been taken in a hospital and showed a family smiling into the camera: a man with his arm around his wife, who held a newborn baby in her arms and, on the other side of her, a three or four year old girl cuddling against her mom's side. Dean, looking at the photograph, knew that this family had been shattered the same way his had been so long ago.

"Dean, we've got to get this thing," Sam said. "We've got to."

"We will, Sam."

***

Jim hoped Blair would be sleeping, but when he quietly opened their bedroom door he found Blair propped up on pillows, reading. At least he'd stayed in bed. Jim climbed onto the bed to lie beside his partner, and kissed him briefly. "Hey, Chief."

"Hi, Jim."

"How are you feeling?"

Blair managed a weak smile. "Like someone tried to rip my heart out of my chest." Blair laid the book down. "Jim, I'll be fine. You know I heal."

"I know, but it's full moon again tonight. Are you going to be healed enough for that?"

Blair's smile vanished. "I don't think I'll be up to hunting," he admitted.

Jim nodded grimly. "That's a problem."

Blair Changed only when he had to: the three nights of the full moon. Werewolves _could_ Change at other times, and those who did learned greater control of their wolf form. But there were consequences to spending more time as a wolf, and Blair valued his humanity too much to start Changing voluntarily. The price he paid was control: he had no choice but to Change on those three nights, and when he did Change, he needed to kill. He could channel that need enough to kill animals, not people, but he had to hunt.

"I'll be okay, man," Blair said uncertainly.

Jim drew Blair into his arms. "Let's not take any chances, Chief."

Blair nodded against his shoulder. "No chances," he agreed. "Last night was stupid. Dangerous."

"You didn't hurt anyone, Blair."

"If you'd been just five seconds later, Jim, Dean could be dead now. Or worse, he could be in a hospital and I'd be advising Sam how to survive his first full moon."

Jim held him close. "Do you really think this is worse than death?"

Blair drew away to look into Jim's eyes. "For me, man, no. It's hard, but I'm happy. You know I am. But for Dean...he's already a predator, man. Add a wolf's instincts to what he already is and...and Sam is the one who would have to end it. No, Jim. No more risks."

Jim hesitated, not sure if he should say anything more. But a change of subject seemed called for, so he said, "Chief, Dean and Sam...last night..."

"I know." Blair smiled, an odd, secret smile. "It freaks you out, doesn't it?"

"That's putting it mildly. I suspected something before but I thought...I had to be imagining it." He remembered Sam kissing Dean in front of him. There had been no hesitation in Sam, no shame. But they were _brothers_! It just wasn't...natural.

As always, Blair seemed to read his thoughts. "Sam told me a little about the way they grew up, Jim. Always on the road, raised as warriors by their father. It sounds like the only stability they had was each other."

"Are you seriously telling me it doesn't bother you?"

Blair snuggled closer to him. "Truthfully, yeah, it does. But it's none of our business, Jim."

"They're breaking the law."

"In lots of ways, I'm sure. Jim, incest is illegal for good reasons and for some bad ones. It's often a euphemism for child abuse and it's an easy way to prosecute those cases. We both know that. But Sam and Dean are consenting adults."

"I don't know, Chief. Sam looked pretty beaten up."

"And you've never left bruises on me after a night of rough sex."

Blair had a point. Jim shrugged, but this was just too weird. How young had Sam been when his brother started banging him? What kind of a father would let that happen? "I know, Chief, but this is just..."

Blair sighed. "Jim, if you really think it's non-consensual, then find out for sure. They can't stop you listening in if you want to. But if you're wrong, then...well, you know the old saying about glass houses?"

Jim frowned. "Yeah. What's your point?"

"That the guy you're sleeping with isn't even human. Technically."

***

Jim balanced the tray against his chest with one hand, reaching to open the door of the guest wing with the other. He found the inner door closed and was about to knock when Dean opened the door for him.

"Hey, dude. How's Blair?"

"He's going to be okay," Jim answered, "but...here." He offered the tray to Dean. "I brought your supper."

"Thanks, but..."

"Jim interrupted, "Dean, there's a problem with Blair. Tonight is the third night of the full moon. He has to Change, but he's still hurt. He won't be fit to hunt."

Jim saw several thoughts flit across Dean's expression before he said, "What can we do?"

"Nothing. It's just...look, I know you and Sam can take care of yourselves but I don't want him shot again. I'll keep him on the property but I need to know you two will stay out of the way. Stay in this wing, no matter what you hear tonight."

Dean almost dropped the tray. "Dude, you're gonna lock yourself in with a hungry werewolf? Are you nuts?"

It was a reasonable question. "Blair won't hurt me. But you won't be safe. Please, Dean. It's just tonight."

Dean looked at him for a long moment then nodded. "Okay. We'll lock ourselves in."

Jim knew that went against all of Dean's instincts and he appreciated his agreement. "Thanks," he said. "Enjoy your supper."

***

They kept the chains in the haybarn Blair usually used to Change. In their first months in Panther Creek, when they didn't know any other way to deal with Blair's Changes, he had been chained up in here every full moon.

Blair still looked pale and sick from the blood loss. He should be in a hospital, but under the circumstances that was impossible. Blair sat down on the chest while Jim prepared the chain.

"You know," Blair said, as Jim pulled on the chain, testing its strength, "on a different night, this could be kinda fun."

It was a weak joke.

Jim ran the chain through his hands. "You want to try chains, baby, I'd rather chain you to a nice warm bed than a cold stone floor." His hands reached the collar. "Okay, we're ready." He looked toward the door, but couldn't see the moon.

Blair couldn't see it, but he felt it. He stood and undressed and Jim didn't find it sexy at all. When Blair was naked, Jim fastened the collar around his neck. He hated doing this.

Blair reached up and touched Jim's hand as he fastened the collar. "It's okay, man," he said quietly.

"I know. I just..."

"Yeah."

"I'll...er...I'll come back after you Change."

"Thanks."

Jim kissed Blair, holding his face with both hands and kissing him deeply. He was just getting into it when he felt Blair flinch away from him.

Blair stepped back, the chain clanking. "Leave, Jim. Go now." He fell to his knees as the Change began.

***

Sam heard the wolf howl and turned away from the window. "God...that's horrible," he said. How could Jim bear it, month after month, listening to someone he loved in such pain?

Dean didn't answer him and Sam looked for his brother. Then he heard the shower running.

He stared at the closed bathroom door. What the hell was going on with Dean? He'd been fine when they talked with Jim but he'd been like a bear with a sore head ever since. Maybe he was just tired. None of them had slept much and Dean had lost a lot of blood binding Erin. Or maybe it was embarrassment. It wasn't like Dean to walk - or in this case run - into the arms of the very thing they were hunting.

And then there was whatever he'd been trying to say this morning when Jim interrupted them. _Erin...she did something to me...maybe both of us...I'm just saying...it wasn't us, Sam._

Sam pondered what to do for a moment. He wanted to go to Dean, get under the shower with him, kiss and caress his bad mood away. But if Sam did that, he knew he wouldn't be able to close that door again. Sam wondered, not for the first time, how Jess would have reacted if he confessed this part of his past. He'd told her some of it: that he'd had a boyfriend before he left for college but of course he'd never let her suspect it was his brother. Jess was liberal and thought of herself as open-minded, but _any_ normal person would freak out over this. It was dumb to wonder about it, really. He knew.

But Jess was gone. Right now, all he had was Dean and Sam found he was missing more and more their teenage intimacy. He made up his mind and headed toward the bathroom door.

By then Dean had finished his shower and he walked out of the bathroom, still dripping wet with a towel around his waist. He stopped short when he saw Sam. There was an odd expression on his face; something Sam couldn't read. He walked past Sam without a word.

Huh. That was weird. Sam followed Dean into their bedroom.

"Dean?"

Dean had his back to Sam. He didn't turn around.

Sam, knowing it was the wrong thing to say before he said it, asked, "Dude, do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Fury sparked in Dean's eyes as he spun around to face Sam. "Talk about _what_? About how I didn't listed to you and that bitch nearly killed me? About how a fucking _werewolf_ saved my life? About how I _raped_ you last night? Which one did you want to talk about, Sam?"

Sam heard what Dean said, heard the raw emotion in his voice, but it didn't make sense. "Whoa. Dude, what the hell are you talking about? You didn't..."

"Go away, Sam." Dean sat on the bed and started to pull his pants on over wet skin.

"No," Sam answered firmly. He walked around the bed. He considered sitting down beside Dean but this seemed to need something more. Sam knelt on the floor in front of Dean, looking up at him. "Dean, you didn't rape me. Not even close."

"Don't."

"Look at me, Dean." Sam waited for Dean to obey. "It was rough sex, I know, but..."

"You were right, Sam. You said she did something to us, or to me. Somehow she made us..."

"Dean, it doesn't matter what Erin did. Newsflash, dude. I had fun the other night. So did you." He ran a hand up Dean's leg. "I can't blame her for what I'm feeling now. I'd like...to have more fun like that with you."

Sam saw a growing bulge under Dean's towel.

Dean reached down to him. "Sammy..."

Sam grinned, holding up a hand in an abrupt "stop" gesture. "No chick-flick moments," he said gleefully.

Dean looked surprised for a moment, then he grinned. "Sam. Take your clothes off. I'm gonna kill you slowly."

***

It was a bad night for Blair.

The wounds on his human body were still present in wolf form, albeit hidden beneath his fur. A wounded wolf, a wolf in pain, is a dangerous creature. Add to that the werewolf's need to hunt after Changing, and Jim was worried. He believed he was in no danger from Blair but he also knew that the wolf was hurting, scared and angry to find itself chained up.

Jim brought Blair fresh meat after he Changed. It helped the wolf's hunger but not his need to kill. Jim stayed with him, but though he wanted to get close to the wolf, to help him, he didn't take the risk. He wasn't certain that Blair wouldn't bite him: he wouldn't kill Jim, but in this state he might see a bite as a friendly warning.

Blair devoured the meat Jim gave him, and for those few moments he was calm. Once the meat was gone, he went back to struggling against the collar and chain. He snarled and pulled and bit at the metal. He turned angry eyes to Jim, barking a demand for release.

When he got tired of the struggle, Blair started worrying at his wounds, biting the damaged skin. It was then that Jim intervened. If a dog was wounded, a vet would fit it with one of those plastic cone-shaped collars, to stop it doing just what Blair was doing. But Blair was no dog. There was an intelligent man in there.

Jim knelt beside him, stroking his head, trying to draw his attention away from the wounds. "Come on, Blair. You don't want to hurt yourself." He tried being gentle, and when that didn't work he grabbed on to the wolf's rough fur and pulled his head up. "No, Blair. You're hurting yourself." It worked for a while, but only for a while.

It was a bad night for both of them.

Around three in the morning, Blair finally exhausted himself. Jim had been sitting on a hay bale. When Blair whined and crawled toward him, Jim slid down to the floor. Blair curled up beside him, laid his head on Jim's thigh and closed his eyes. Jim stroked his neck, savouring the rough warmth beneath his fingers as the wolf's breathing steadied in sleep.

With Blair's furry head in his lap, Jim could relax. He even managed a little sleep, but only a little. Blair's Change woke him.

In all those werewolf movies they show the man Changing into a wolf as a long, painful process, yet somehow when the guy in the movie Changes back, it's never like that. He wakes up naked in the woods, human again, as if he could Change back in his dreams. The reality was nothing like that.

Blair's whine of pain woke Jim and at once he felt the first tremors of Change in the fur and muscle beneath his hand. He stroked the wolf's flank, murmuring a reassurance, though he knew that nothing could make this easier. His presence might help, so he kept stroking Blair's fur, speaking to him softly.

There was no howl, just that awful whimpering and Blair looked up at him, wolf eyes pleading, but for what? His fur split open beneath Jim's hand, flesh and muscle tearing. Jim jerked his hand away, instinctively expecting blood, but there was no bleeding. He saw the wolf's limbs lengthen and fill out, the frantically scrabbling paws morphing into hands and fingers. The canine whimpering became a human sob.

Staying there, _feeling_ and watching Blair Change took every ounce of courage Jim possessed. He always knew when Blair Changed, but he was never in the room. Never went through it with him like this. Maybe he should.

Finally, Blair lay naked and weak on his side in the hay, his head still in Jim's lap. There were tears on his cheeks and a small, soft sob with each breath. His wounds stood out against his pale skin. The gashes Erin left on his chest had healed over but the new skin still looked fragile.

Jim stroked Blair's curls, saying nothing. It would be a while before Blair was strong enough to stand. The Change always took a lot out of him. "It's okay, baby," Jim said softly. "It's over now." Over, yeah. Until next month. He reached down to remove the collar and chain.

Blair raised his head, crawling up to his knees. "Oh, god, Jim."

"I know, Chief. It's over now." Jim let the collar fall and kissed Blair, tasting the salt of his tears. Just a kiss, for now. He stood, his muscles protesting because he'd been sitting on the cold stone floor for too long. He helped Blair to his feet and held him close.

Blair hugged him back tightly and Jim smiled, bending down to kiss Blair's neck. Later, he knew that Blair would want him and they would probably spend the afternoon making love, but now in the aftermath of Blair's Change, a hug was the best either of them could do.

***

Sam lifted their bags into the Impala's trunk and closed it firmly. He turned to Jim and Blair, who were waiting beside the car. "Thanks, guys. Thanks for everything."

Jim smiled. "No, thank _you_. You two saved a lot of lives."

"Not without help," Sam answered. With Jim's offer of help with their search, Sam thought for the first time that he and Dean just might have a chance to find the Demon.

Jim's offer had surprised Sam; he'd thought that their agreement to share information was going to be the end of it. But Jim told them that he couldn't tell the FBI they were looking for a demon, and he wasn't willing to let the case go after everything he had learned.

"Dean and I will be watching for another fire, but if you hear of anything..."

"I'll call you," Jim confirmed.

Dean leaned over the roof of the Impala. "Just send us the co-ordinates. That's how Dad does it."

"Sounds easy enough."

"Even if it's not the Demon," Dean added. "I mean, if you run across something else supernatural. We're always looking for a new hunt."

Blair moved up to Jim's side and Sam noticed how Jim automatically put an arm around his shoulders, a protective gesture, he thought.

"Listen, man, I know you two have a job to do, but..." Blair glanced up at Jim, then back to Sam. "If you ever want a vacation, or if you need a safe place to hole up for a while, I want you to know you're welcome here. Any time."

The offer was unexpected. "Thanks," Sam said.

"Yeah, thanks," Dean agreed. "But, you know, if we ever do need a safehouse, there's a good chance there'll be something nasty on our tail. You sure you want to get into that?"

"If that ever happens," Jim said, his hand sliding down Blair's arm, "I think a sentinel and a werewolf would make good allies."

Sam found himself grinning. "You're right. We made a good team." He couldn't help glancing at Dean when he said that, and Dean nodded agreement. Probably only Sam realised what a huge change of heart that was for Dean.

"Stay in touch," Blair suggested. "I'll send you a copy of my next book."

"I can't wait," Sam told him. "We'll visit again. Next time we're in the state."

"C'mon, Sammy. Time to hit the road." Dean climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door pointedly.

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Next hunt, next town." He opened the Impala's door and got inside.

"Good luck," Jim said.

Dean popped a tape into the stereo and turned the volume up. AC/DC filled the air and Dean gunned the engine, almost loud enough to drown out the music. He reversed out of the garage, turned the wheel, and headed down the driveway to the iron gate. Not once did he look back.

Sam did. _A sentinel and a werewolf would make good allies._ They certainly would.

He knew they would be back this way again.

**~ End ~**


End file.
